THE    ROBERT   E    COWAN   C 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


C.  P.  HUNTINGTON 


Accession  No 


FOR 


OUR  BOYS 


A  COLLECTION  OF 


ORIGINAL  LITERARY  OFFERINGS 


BY  POPULAR  WRITERS  AT  HOME  AND  ABROAD. 


Published  and  sold 

For  the  benefit  of  the  "  Youths'  Directory,"  of  San  Francisco, 
A  benevolent  institution  for  friendless  boys. 


EDITED   BY 

AMBROSE  P.  DIETZ,  A.  M. 


SAN  FRANCISCO: 
A.    L.    BANCROFT    AND    COMPANY. 

1878. 


SOME  OF  THE  LITERARY  CONTRIBUTORS. 


Allibone,  S.  Austin Pennsylvania. 

Bancroft,  Hubert  H California. 

Beecher,  Rev.  Henry  Ward New  York. 

Bellows,  Rev.  Dr.  Henry  W " 

Brooks,  Noah "       " 

Brown  (Blackwell),   Mrs.  Antoinette  L New  Jersey. 

Capel,  Right  Rev.   Monsignor England. 

Carroll,  Sister  Mary  Austin Louisiana. 

Cooke,  John  Esten Virginia. 

Crosby,  Rev.  Dr.  Howard New  York 

Deems,  Rev.  Dr.  Chas.  F "       " 

Dickinson,  Miss  Anna  E Pennsylvania. 

Dupierris,  Dr.  H.  A California. 

Durivage,  Francis  A New  York. 

Dwight,  Benjamin  W "       " 

"Eli  Perkins"  (Melville  D.  Landon) " 

Ferral,  Robert California. 

Fitzgerald,  Rev.  Dr.  0.  P Tennessee. 

Fremont,  John  C  . . . Arizona. 

Fullerton,  Lady  Georgiana England. 

George,  Henry California. 

Hale,  Rev.  Edward  E Massachusetts. 

Hallidie,  A.  S California. 

Hittell,  John  S 

Hugo,  Victor France. 

Hurlbut,  George  C California. 

Joannes,  George,  the  Count New  York. 

Knowlton,  Prof.  E California. 

Lossing,  Benson  J : New  York. 

Mann,  Mrs.  Mary  (Horace) Massachusetts. 

Mezzara,  Mme.  Amelia California. 

Miller,  "Joaquin"  (C.  H.  Miller) New  York. 

Montgomery,  Zach California. 

"Mrs.  Partington"  (B.  P.  Shillaber) Massachusetts. 

Noble,  Rev.  Dr.  Thomas  K California. 

Olmsted,  Frederick  Law Massachusetts. 

O'Reilly,  Rev.  Bernard New  York. 

Peabody,  Miss  Elizabeth  P Massachusetts. 

Piatt,  Donn District  Columbia. 

Pike,  Albert 

Pinart,  Alphonse France. 

Pomeroy,  Mark  M.  ( "Brick") Illinois. 

Pratt,  Mrs.  Annie  A California. 

Preston,  Very  Rev.  Thos.  S New  York. 

Roach,  Philip  A California . 

Russell,  Dr.   Wm.  H.  (London  "Times ") England. 

Sadlier,  Mrs.  Mary  A New  York. 

Sargent,  Epes : Massachusetts. 

Saunders,  Frederic New  York. 

Sherman,  Gen.  Wm.  T District  Columbia. 

Smith,  Rev.  Matthew  Hale New  York. 

Stoddard,  Charles  Warren California. 

Stuart  ("Caliban"),  Hector  A 

Train,  George  Francis New  York. 

Upham,  Samuel  C Pennsylvania. 

AND  MANY  OTHERS. 


PROSPECTUS. 


THE  YOUTHS'  DIRECTORY,  as  the  residents  of  San  Fran 
cisco  are  aware,  is  the  name  of  a  free  home  and  intelligence 
bureau,  supported  by  the  people  of  this  city  and  the  State, 
for  all  classes  of  friendless  children,  especially  boys,  in 
quest  of  employment.  There  is  no  adverse  discrimination 
between  applicants  on  account  of  difference  in  matters  of 
religious  belief.  The  house  of  reception  is  situated  on 
Howard  street,  No.  1417,  between  Tenth  and  Eleventh. 
The  Board  of  Managers  is  composed  of  James  R.  Kelly, 
President;  Gustave  Touchard,  Treasurer;  and  Peter  H. 
Burnett,  Michael  J.  O'Connor,  Cornelius  D.  O 'Sullivan, 
Henry  Barroilhet,  Richard  Tobin,  John  Sullivan,  and 
Joseph  A.  Donohoe.  Among  the  other  fosterers  of  this 
non-sectarian  institution  may  be  noticed  the  names  of 
Archbishop  Alemany,  Milton  S.  Latham,  James  C.  Flood, 
W.  Lane  Booker,  Mrs.  C.  Koopmanschap,  Lloyd  Tevis, 
Daniel  T.  Murphy,  Fred.  L.  Castle,  John  J.  O'Brien, 
Denis  J.  Oliver,  Mrs.  Annie  A.  Pratt,  Theodore  Le  Roy, 
Mrs.  John  Parrott,  Francis  S.  Wensinger,  D.  O.  Mills, 
Robert  B.  Woodward,  and  John  W.  Mackay. 

Since  its  foundation,  four  years  ago,  through  the  liber 
ality  of  these  and  other  friends,  the  Youths'  Directory  has 
been  enabled  to  rescue  from  the  evils  of  the  streets,  to  feed, 
shelter,  clothe,  surround  with  moral  influences  and  pro 
vide  with  good  homes  or  situations,  in  town  and  country, 
some  twelve  thousand  destitute  boys  and  girls,  most  of 
whom  had  otherwise  become  a  reproach  as  well  as  an  ex 
pense  to  the  city.  The  benefits  of  the  refectory,  dormitory, 
and  intelligence  office,  are  absolutely  free  to  all;  but  this 


Prospectus. 

temporary  establishment,  with  a  great  mission  before  it,  can 
meet  only  a  tithe  of  the  urgent  and  increasing  demands 
constantly  made  on  its  resources.  Day  by  day  and  night 
after  night,  its  officers,  owing  to  a  lack  of  sufficient  accom 
modations,  are  constrained  to  dismiss  indigent  youths  who 
appeal  for  food  and  lodging.  The  building  and  the  stores 
of  provisions,  particularly  at  the  approach  of  winter,  are 
far  inadequate  to  the  wants  of  the  number  who  ask  for 
shelter  and  the  necessaries  of  life.  Shall  this  deserving* 
asylum  be  furnished  with  more  means  and  ampler  room? 
or  shall  it  continue  to  reject  the  homeless  and  send  away 
the  hungry  ? 

In  this  pressing  emergency,  a  committee  of  prominent 
Citizens  has  been  organized  to  raise  funds  for  the  enlarge 
ment  of  the  Youths'  Directory,  by  the  publication  and 
sale  of  a  Christmas  book,  a  treasury  of  original  contri 
butions  in  prose  and  verse,  comprising  a  variety  of  topics 
of  general  interest,  kindly  presented  by'  distinguished  men 
and  women  at  home  and  abroad.  • 

The  volume,  an  elegant  octavo  of  425  pages  printed  on 
tine  paper  and  from  clear  type,  will  shortly  be  issued  from 
the  press  of  A.  L.  Bancroft  &  Co.  Price,  in  illuminated 
cloth  binding,  $3.50.  Canvassers,  with  proper  credentials , 
are  now  calling  on  our  citizens  for  subscriptions. 

At  the  close  of  the  year,  when  the  gladsome  and  plen 
tiful  season  of  holidays  prompts  every  heart  to  help  the 
needy,  this  enterprise  in  aid  of  the  countless  little  wander 
ers  in  our  streets,  commends  itself  to  the  best  sympathy 
and  warmest  patronage  of  all  our  people.  Let  a  generous 
response  meet  this  appeal  in  behalf  of  Our  Boys. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  November  28,  1878. 


FOR 


OUR  BOYS 


A  COLLECTION  OF 


ORIGINAL  LITERARY  OFFERINGS 


EY  POPULAR  WRITERS  AT  HOME  AND  ABROAD. 


Published  and  sold 

For  the  benefit  of  the  "  Youths'  Directory,"  of  San  Francisco, 
A  benevolent  institution  for  friendless  boys. 


EDITED   BY 

AMBROSE  P.  DIETZ,  A.  M. 


SAN  FRANCISCO: 
A.   L.    BANCROFT    AND    COMPANY. 

1879. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1879, 

BY  A.  L.  BANCROFT  &  COMPANY, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


TO 

THE    CITIZENS    OF    SAN    FRANCISCO, 

WHOSE   MUNIFICENCE   IS   KNOWN  THROUGHOUT  THE   LAND, 

THIS  VOLUME 

IS 

GRATEFULLY  DEDICATED. 

-*<-.?  v 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTORY.    By  the  Editor > 7 

To  the  Managers  of  the  Youths'  Directory  (Poem). 

Lady  Georgiana  Fullerton 12 

The  Youths'  Directory.     Miss  Anna  T.  Sadlier 14 

CHRISTMAS  ADDRESS.     Rev.  Dr.  Henry  W.  Bellows 17 

CALIFORNIA  (Verses).     Samuel  C.  Upkam 23 

WORK.     Hubert  II.  Bancroft 24 

A  TRUE  STORY.     S.  Austin  Allibone 39 

A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE.     "Hart  Barnard"  (Bentley] 43 

GONE  BEFORE  (.Song).     Samuel  S.  Hall  ("Buckskin  Sam") 50 

A  SKETCH  FROM  HUMBLE  LIFE.     Noah  Brooks 51 

KIN  AND  KING  (Poem).     Antoinette  L.  Brown  (Blaclcwell) 65 

THE  CROSS  OF  THE  SOUTH.     Sister  Mary  Austin  Carroll G7 

NORTH  AND  SOUTH  (Verses).     Mrs.  L.   Virginia  French 75 

THE  MAY-FLOWER  (Verses).     Rev.  Dr.  P.  A .  Chadbourne 76 

THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  CHARLES  LEE.     John  Esten  Cooke 77 

ENFORCEMENT  OF  LAW.     Rev.  Dr.  Howard  Crosby 87 

RECOMPENSE  (Poem).     Dora  Darmoore 89 

ECHOES.     Rev.  Dr.  Charles  F.  Deems 92 

MY  LITTLE  SISTERS  (Verses).     Francis  Alexander  Durivaye 95 

LETTER. — Miss  Anna  E.  Dickinson 95 

BE  CONTENT  (Poem).     Mrs.  Horace  A.  Deming C6 

OMNIPOTENCE  (Verses).     Professor  Samuel  H.  Haldeman 97 

A  BEAUTIFUL  LIFE.     Rev.  Dr.  Benjamin  W.  Dwight 98 

LETTER.—  Joaquin  Miller  (C.  II.  Miller) 103 

MODERN  LOVE-STORY.     "Eli  Perkins"  (Melville  D.  Landon) 104 

LETTER. — Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 107 

OUR  CAMP  IN  '64.     Robert  Ferral..                                                    .  108 


4:  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

DELUSIONS  or  YOUNG  PEOPLE.  Rev.  Dr.  Oscar  P.  Fitzgerald 114 

THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS  (Poem).  John  C.  Fremont 121 

THE  VIRGIN  MARY  AND  THE  BABY  (Verses).  Mrs.  Jessie  B.  Fremont .  123 

SOWING  AND  REAPING.  Dr.  Elizabeth  J.  French 124 

EACH  AND  ALL.  Henry  George 129 

CONSOLATION  (Verses).  Maurice  F.  Egan 137 

AN  ARABIAN  TALE.  Rev.  Edward  Everett  Hale 138 

AT  LAST  (Verses).  George  C.  Hurlbut 142 

THE  WORLD  OWES  ME  A  LIVING.  A.  S.  Ilallidie 143 

LETTER. — Edwin  Booth 145 

A  MILLIONAIRE'S  DREAM.  Bracebridge  Hemyng 146 

REVERIE  IN  A  BALLOON  (Verses).  Miss  Lizzie  I.  Wise 155 

GEORGE  AND  I.  Barton  Hill 156 

MINING  LIFE  AT  SHASTA  IN  1849.  John  8.  Ilittell 161 

THE  SHADOW  (Verses).  Rev.  Dr.  M.  J.  Savage 185 

LA  PROVIDENCE  (Poem).  Victor  Hugo 186 

A  MOUNTAIN-STORM.  George  Jones,  the  Count  Joannes. 187 

THE  CROWN  OF  YOUTH.  Professor  Henry  Kiddle 190 

THREE  CHRISTMASES  A  YEAR.  Ebenezer  Knoidton 192 

LETTER. — Schuyler  Colfax 210 

MAN'S  DESTINY.  Rev.  Brother  Justin 211 

KISMET  (Verses).  Thomas  J.  Vivian 216 

PHILLIS  WHEATLEY.  Benson  J.  Lossing 217 

CHARITY  KINDERGARTENS.  Mrs.  Mary  (Horace)  Mann 222 

A  CALIFORNIA  BOY  ABROAD.  Master  Charles  B.  Hill 231 

THE  LIBERTY  OF  THE  PRESS.  Philip  A.  Roach 238 

CITY  AND  COUNTRY  LIFE.  Zach.  Montgomery 246 

Two  GREAT  STONE-FACES.  "Mrs.  Partington"  (P.  B.  Shillaber) . . .  253 

CALIFORNIA  WAIFS.  Rev.  Thomas  K.  Noble 259 

REAL  CHINA.  Frederick  Laiv  Olmsted 263 

A  WORD  OF  ADVICE.  General  Wm.  T.  Sherman,  U.  S.  A 269 

THE  COT  BY  THE  HiLL  (Poem).  Frank  Soule 270 

How  DO  WE  LEARN  OUR  LIFE?  (Verses).  Charles  A.  Sumner 271 

KOPHINS'  BOY.  Donn  Piatt 272 

ON  THE  NILE  (Poem).  Charles  Warren  Stoddard 281 


CONTENTS.  5 

PAGE 

LETTER. — M.  M.  ("Brick")  Pomeroy 282 

CHARLES  CARROLL  OF  CARROLLTON.  Rev.  Dr.  Matthew  II.  Smith .  283 
AN  OLD  LETTER  RESTORED  (Verses).  Mrs.  Annie  A.  Pratt 285 

LETTER.  — Miss  Mary  Carpenter 290 

A  GOOD  AND  NOBLE  RECORD.  Very  Rev.  Thomas  S.  Preston 291 

LETTER — "Buffalo  Bill"  (  Wm.  F.  Cody) 293 

LES  DANGERS  DU  TABAC.  Dr.  Ilippohjte  A .  Depierris 299 

WATCHWORDS  or  LIFE  (Verses).  Rev.  Dr.  William  II.  Platt 303 

THE  YEAR  OF  THE  CHURCH.  Mrs.  Mart/  A.  Sadlier 309 

As  THE  SEASONS  COME  ASD  Go  (Poem).  Albert  Pike 315 

COMMON  SENSE.  Frederic  Saunders 317 

LA  Foi,  L'ESPERANCE,  ET  LA  CHARITE  (Verses).  Mme.  Mezzara..  322 

THE  FALLEN  NEST.  Thomas  W.  Ilanshew 323 

How  LILIAN  LEFT  Us  (Poem).  Epes  Sargent 325 

BIBLIOMANIA.  Alfred  E.  Whitalcr 329 

LONG  TOM  (Verses).  Hector  A.  Stuart  ("Caliban") 332 

LITTLE  RED-FOOT.  "  Olive  Thome"  (Mrs.  Harriet  H.  Hitter) ,  336 

CONSTANTIA  (Fragment  of  a  Drama).  Rev.  Dr.  Bernard  O'Reilly  .  338 

OUR  IDYL  (Poem).  William  R.  Eyster 343 

A  REMARKABLE  CAREER.  George  Francis  Train 348 

CRAWFORD'S  ORPHEUS  (Verses).  Miss  Elizabeth  P.  Peabody 350 

RUSSIANS  AT  THE  SANDWICH  ISLANDS.  Alphonse  Pinart 351 

THE  DYING  BOY  (Verses).  Mrs.  Wm  S.  Robinson  ("  Warrington").  354 

PARLIAMENTARY.  Henry  J.  Latham 356 

GATHER  IN  THE  BOYS  (Verses).  Mrs.  John  Me  Henry 359 

BAD  BOYS.  Dr.  Mary  P.  SawteUe 360 

How  HE  PROVED  HER  AFFECTION.  Harry  Enton 362 

THE  BETHLEHEM  SONG.  Rev.  Dr.  S.  Dryden  Phelps 367 

FIXEDNESS  OF  PURPOSE.  John  Watts  de  Peyster 370 

WHAT  A  STRAIN  OF  Music  CAUSED.  Miss  Anna  T.  Sadlier 379 

YALE  AND  HARVARD  DISAGREE.  President  Porter  and  President  Eliot.  402 

THE  LESSON  FOR  THE  DAY.  Mrs.  Jessie  Benton  Fremont 403 

A  FLIGHT  WITH  ARIEL  (Poem).  Albert  Pike 409 

A  DIAMOND  IN  THE  ROUGH  (Poem).  Francis  S.  Smith 421 

LETTER. — Monsignor  Thomas  J.  Capel 424 


INTRODUCTORY. 


LEADING  publicists  and  other  writers  on  modern  social 
ism,  recognize  the  proposition  that  in  all  civilized  countries 
the  honest,  helpless  poor  are  entitled  to  government  aid. 
But  the  right  of  the  individual  to  assistance  by  the  state, 
involves  a  correlation  of  society,  which  is  organized  chiefly 
for  the  security  of  its  members  in  their  life  and  property, 
and  for  their  mutual  protection.  Therefore,  society  is  not 
merely  an  economical  fact,  a  kind  of  savings  and  loan  as 
sociation;  it  is  also  a  moral  fact,  a  grand  fabric  of  solidarity 
and  brotherhood,  resting  on  a  basis  of  equity  and  reciprocal 
obligations.  Some  wealsmen,  however,  maintain  that  the 
commonwealth  owes  nothing  to  its  disabled  or  destitute 
members.  Such  a  doctrine  is  neither  humane  nor  logical 
in  its  conclusions.  A  condition  in  which  the  individual 
should  never  have  any  benefit  to  expect  from  the  collective 
store  or  reserve  of  the  community,  and  should  himself  have 
to  provide,  under  all  circumstances  of  adversity,  for  the 
afflictions  and  infirmities  of  his  body,  would  no  longer  be  a 
social  condition,  but  a  savage  state.  "We  have  constituted 
authorities  to  redress  wrongs,  and  protect  the  weak  against 
oppression;  courts  of  judicature  established  to  administer 
justice  and  punish  evil-doers,  and  yet  there  should  be  no 
municipal  provision  for  the  dispensation  of  bread  to  the 
aged,  the  indigent  and  the  orphaned,  when  trying  to  help 
themselves?  May  the  homeless  poor  always  rely  on  the 
continuance  of  private  benevolence  to  aid  them  ? 

A  good  man,  whose  industry  in  better  days  was  tributary 
to  the  public  treasury,  is  now  a  beggar  amid  surroundings 
of  luxury  and  opulence.  People  stand  aloof,  and  say  they 


8  INTRODUCTORY. 

are  under  no  obligation  to  succor  him  in  his  misfortune. 
"Where,  then,  is  the  bond,  the  compact  between  this  man 
and  society  ?  No  forfeiture  of  citizenship  has  ever  placed 
him  under  the  ban  of  incapacity.  Declining  to  succor  him 
in  his  distress,  society  virtually  declares  him  an  alien,  an 
outlaw,  whom  no  one  is  bound  to  respect.  It  relegates  him 
to  a  state  of  nature;  that  is  to  say,  of  antagonism,  in  which 
every  impulse  of  his  being,  the  very  instinct  of  self-preser 
vation,  prompts  him  to  sustain  his  life  by  any  means.  It  is 
the  duty  of  political  corporations  to  devise  ways  and  means 
for  expenses  of  general  utility:  can  there  be  any  wiser  ex 
penditure  than  that  which  is  appropriated  to  relieve  the 
necessities  of  the  workless  poor,  and  thus  prevent  them 
from  resorting  to  the  extremities  provoked  by  absolute 
want  ?  Nor  is  there  any  real  danger  of  abuses  proceeding 
from  the  outlay.  Public  charity  seldom  gives  more  than  is 
strictly  needed;  and  it  is  not  in  the  heart  of  man,  particu 
larly  in  this  country,  to  content  himself  with  alms  and  the 
prospect  of  an  asylum,  when  he  can  do  better  by  earning 
something  through  his  own  exertions.  As  the  community 
supports  criminals  while  they  are  undergoing  their  penalty, 
its  refusal  to  aid  the  destitute,  who  are  guilty  of  no  offense, 
is  certainly  an  inducement  for  them  to  commit  crime.  If 
the  claim  to  public  assistance  is  denied,  and  the  purloining 
of  bread  is  a  violation  of  law,  then  the  right  to  beg  becomes 
sacred,  and  must  be  allowed.  But  in  California  there  are 
ordinances  forbidding  the  practice  of  mendicity. 

The  advocacy  of  the  principle  that  the  hungry  and  the 
naked  and  the  homeless,  including  innocent  children,  have 
no  right  nor  title  to  demand  tho  necessaries  of  life,  is  con 
trary  to  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  revolting  to  the  feelings 


INTBODUCTORY.  9 

of  our  common  humanity,  tending  to  demoralize  society, 
and  cause  it  to  relapse  into  the  elements  of  barbarism. 
J.  Stuart  Mill,  the  distinguished  English  philosopher,  holds 
that  whoever  possesses  more  than  he  requires  of  the  things 
of  this  world,  cannot  make  too  great  a  sacrifice  to  insure 
the  existence,  or  save  the  life  of  a  fellow-being. 

Deeply  impressed  with  a  sense  of  responsibility  in  the 
matter,  perhaps  akin  to  that  which  has  suggested  the  fore 
going  desultory  reflections,  some  benevolent  gentlemen,  a  few 
years  ago,  called  a  private  meeting,  at  which  it  was  resolved 
to  make  a  concerted  effort  to  rescue  aimless  boys  from  the 
temptations,  miseries  and  perils  of  idleness  in  San  Francisco. 
The  immediate  result  of  that  effort  was  the  opening  of  a 
free  employment  office,  under  the  designation  of  "The 
Youths'  Directory;"  an  agency  which,  since  that  time,  re 
taining  its  main  features  as  an  intelligence  bureau,  has  gradu 
ally  expanded  into  a  well-appointed  eleemosynary  home 
for  friendless  lads  in  quest  of  work.  The  public  is  already 
acquainted  with  the  good  accomplished  through  the  in 
strumentality  of  this  foundation.  Among  its  promoters 
may  be  mentioned,  at  random,  the  names  of  Archbishop 
Alemany,  D.  O.  Mills.  James  II.  Kelly,  John  Parrott,  James 
C.  Flood,  BobertB.  Woodward,  Gustave  Touchard,  Lloyd 
Tevis,  Joseph  A.  Donohoe,  Frederick  L.  Castle,  Henry 
Barroilhet,  W.  Lane  Booker,  John  "W.  Mackay,  and  Milton 
S.  Latham. 

The  demands  upon  the  resources  and  benefits  of  the 
Youths'  Directory  have  lately  so  increased,  that  for  lack  of 
room  and  other  means,  it  cannot  meet  them  all,  depending, 
as  it  does,  on  the  fluctuations  of  private  donations,  with  a 
small  subvention  from  the  State.  In  this  emergency,  a  com- 


10  INTRODUCTORY. 

mittee  of  prominent  citizens  was  organized  some  time  ago  to 
raise  funds  for  the  enlargement  of  the  building  and  its  ap 
purtenances.  In  addition  to  other  projects,  it  was  decided  to 
adopt  the  scheme  of  the  publication  and  sale  of  a  collection 
of  original  literary  sketches  and  essays,  solicited  from  pop 
ular  writers.  In  response  to  a  circular  setting  forth  this 
object,  and  addressed  to  eminent  men  and  women  at  home 
and  abroad,  the  managers  of  the  Youths'  Directory  received 
a  large  quantity  of  valued  manuscripts,  kindly  prepared  for 
this  occasion,  from  which  were  selected  the  papers  embodied 
in  the  volume  now  offered  to  the  patronage  of  the  public. 
The  size  of  this  volume  being  restricted  to  four  hundred 
and  twenty-four  pages,  the  editor  was  constrained  to  omit  a 
variety  of  meritorious  articles,  sufficient  in  bulk  to  form  an 
other  book. 

Henry  Ward  Beecher,  while  in  this  city  last  fall,  prom 
ised  to  write  something  for  "  Our  Boys,"  but  on  his  return 
to  the  east,  a  press  of  accumulated  engagements  precluded 
his  fulfillment  of  this  promise.  "William  H.  Russell,  LL.D., 
war  correspondent  of  the  London  Times,  writing  from  Dun- 
robin  Castle,  in  Scotland,  says,  "  A  contribution  from  my 
pen  will  soon  be  on  its  way  to  the  Youths'  Directory  in 
San  Francisco."  At  the  time  this  volume  was  sent  to  press, 
however,  the  expected  favor  had  not  been  received. 

With  the  close  of  another  year,  and  the  approach  of  the 
gladsome,  plentiful  season  of  Christmas  holidays;  when 
every  generous  heart  is  moved  to  help  the  needy,  this  en 
terprise  in  behalf  of  the  little  wanderers  who  live  in  our 
streets,  commends  itself  to  the  best  sympathy  and  warmest 

support  of  all  our  people. 

THE  EDITOR. 


INTRODUCTORY.  11 

TO 

THE  MANAGERS  OF   THE  YOUTHS'  DIRECTORY. 

BY  LADY  GEORGIANA  FULLERTON. 

GLADLY  my  feeble  pen  would  write 

A  few  brief  lines,  to  prove 
My  more  than  common  sympathy 

"With  your  great  work  of  love. 

Oh !  willingly  would  I  pour  forth 
The  thoughts  that  on  me  throng, 

In  words  as  earnest  as  those  thoughts, 
As  earnest  and  as  strong. 

No  other  aim,  no  other  deed, 

Of  all  those  God  has  blest, 
So  deep  and  keen  an  interest 

Awakens  in  my  breast, 

As  this  out-stretching  of  the  hand 

To  guide,  guard,  and  upraise 
Young  men  and  maidens  on  their  way 

Through  life's  entangled  maze. 

Can  there  be  nobler  work  on  earth, 

Than  patiently  to  strive 
A  youthful  soul  to  save  from  ruin, 

And  teach  it  how  to  live  ? 

Not  as  a  felon  doomed  to  shame; 

Or  passion's  lawless  slave, 
But  as  a  creature  God  has  made, 

And  Jesus  died  to  save. 


12  INTEODUCTOEY. 

To  stay  the  downward  course  of  one 

Nearing  a  fatal  brink; 
To  lend  support  on  life's  rough  sea, 

To  one  about  to  sink; 

To  shield  the  yet  unbroken  flower, 

Pure  and  unspotted  still, 
From  fading  in  the  poisoned  air 

Seducing  arts  instill; 

Such  are  your  tasks,  and  each  day  brings 
Its  meed  of  hope  and  fear: 

Eternity  will  reap  the  fruit 
You  sow  in  labour  here. 

The  name  of  your  fair  city  sounds 

Like  music  in  my  ears; 
It  speaks  of  olden  times,  amidst 

A  new  world's  active  years. 

Men  talk  of  your  great  wealth,  your  mines, 
Your  streams  of  golden  ore, 

And  all  the  gifts  of  nature,  flung 
On  San  Francisco's  shore. 

But  on  your  coasts  St.  Francis  lays 

A  higher,  holier  spell, 
And  you,  the  friends  of  helpless  youth, 

Act  up  to  it  full  well. 

Oh !  may  you  long  pursue  these  ends, 
Long  may  your  work  expand! 

Like  some  great  tree,  strike  deep  its  roots, 
And  shelter  the  whole  land ! 

#7,  Chapel- Street,  London, 

October  20,  1878. 


THE    YOUTHS'    DIKECTOKY. 

FREE  beds,  free  meals,  and  free  employment  for  destitute 
boys  seeking  work — No  adverse  discrimination  between 
applicants  on  account  of  difference  in  matters  of  religious 
belief.  Such  are  the  distinguishing  features  of  the  "  Youths' 
Directory."  And  what  does  this  phrase  mean  ?  It  means 
that  souls  are  to  be  rescued  from  perdition,  hearts  to  be 
made  susceptible  of  moral  training,  and  wandering  feet 
turned  into  the  right  path.  In  a  word,  it  means  that 
countless  vagrants  and  vagabonds  such  as  infest  the  lanes 
and  by-ways  of  a  great  city,  who  fill  the  prisons,  and  who 
too  often  end  upon  the  gallows,  or  in  the  cell  of  condemned 
criminals,  are  yearly  turned  out  from  this  institution  good 
citizens,  and  good  Christians  of  whatsoever  creed  they  pro 
fess.  This  establishment  was  opened  in  November,  1874. 
The  report  which  bears  date  the  first  of  November,  1878, 
states  that: 

"Twelve  thousand  two  hundred  and  one  boys,  aged  from  ten  to 
twenty-one,  of  all  races  and  creeds,  have  been  placed  in  service;  that  is 
to  say,  four  thousand  nine  hundred  and  fifteen  in  town,  and  seven  thou 
sand  two  hundred  and  eighty-six  in  the  country,  since  the  first  of  No 
vember,  1874.  During  that  time,  also,  four  hundred  and  eighty-six 
men,  five  hundred  and  ten  women,  and  eight  hundred  and  ninety-eight 
young  girls  have  incidentally  been  supplied  with  situations;  thus  mak 
ing  a  total  of  fourteen  thousand  and  ninety-five  persons  who  have  ob 
tained  employment  in  the  last  four  years  through  the  agency  of  this 
bureau.  From  factories,  shops,  stores,  farms,  and  other  places  of  in 
dustry  throughout  the  State,  we  often  receive  letters  commendatory  of 
the  youthful  toilers  sent  out  from  this  office.  Many  destitute  families 
in  its  neighborhood  are  helped  with  daily  bread  from  our  humble  pantry, 
while  quantities  of  cast-off  clothing,  and  other  articles  of  wearing  apparel 
kindly  presented  by  friends,  are  distributed  among  the  ragged  waifs  and 
strays  under  our  care.  The  Home  of  the  Youths'  Directory  is  a  tem 
porary  shelter  for  little  wanderers,  until  suitable  openings  are  found  for 
their  services.  The  benefits  of  the  refectory,  dormitory,  and  intelli 
gence  bureaii  are  free  to  all,  and  maintained  by  voluntary  contributions 
from  the  citizens  of  San  Francisco." 


14  INTRODUCTORY. 

Such  tlie  character  and  aims  of  this  institution  to  which 
we  would  now  call  attention.  We  have  before  us  testimo 
nials  from  all  the  principal  papers  of  California  and  other 
parts,  attesting  the  complete  success  with  which  the  under 
taking  has  so  far  met.  "VVe  have  also  letters  from  eminent 
men,  showing  their  high  appreciation  of  this  noble  object. 
All  unite  in  congratulating  the  management  on  their  choice 
of  Mr.  Dietz  as  director  of  the  institution.  This  gentle 
man  was  Assistant-Secretary  of  Legation  under  Minister 
Mason,  at  Paris,  and  subsequently  professor  of  languages 
in  the  college  of  St.  Ignatius,  in  San  Francisco.  He  is 
qualified  by  his  acquirements,  for  the  post  which  he  fills, 
and  has  proved  himself  indefatigable  in  promoting  the  good 
work.  With  what  abundant  success  his  efforts  have  been 
crowned,  we  have  already  seen  in  the  numbers  of  homeless 
youths  provided  with  shelter  or  employment.  Much  has 
been  done,  much  is  still  to  do;  but  let  us  inquire  how  all 
this  has  been  or  is  to  be  accomplished.  Simply  and  solely 
by  the  generosity  of  the  public.  We  find  it  recorded  that 
the  institution  subsists  on  less  than  one  hundred  dollars  a 
month. 

Where  can  we  find  a  parallel?  So  much  good  accom 
plished,  and  on  so  extensive  a  scale,  with  so  little  means! 
An  earnest  appeal  is  therefore  made  in  behalf  of  this 
noble  charity.  Whose  heart  will  not  be  touched  by  the 
suffering  which  this  work  alone  can  alleviate?  Who  can 
fail  to  see  all  the  evident  advantage  which  such  an  in 
stitution  must  be  to  California,  and  to  society  in  general? 
And  who  that  looks  with  the  eye  of  faith,  can  fail  to  be 
hold,  afar  off,  perchance — ay,  far  as  the  country  and  the 
city  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  whither  we  are  all  tending — the 
reward  exceeding  great,  which  shall  be  the  portion  of  those 
who  contribute,  in  the  smallest  degree,  to  such  a  cause? 
Even  in  this  world  shall  they  receive  a  recompense  a  hun 
dredfold. 

A  Christmas  volume  entitled  "  For  Our  Boys,"  is  now  in 


INTRODUCTORY. 


15 


course  of  preparation.  It  will  include  sketches  by  em 
inent  authors,  and  is  to  be  published  and  sold  for  the  bene 
fit  of  the  Youths'  Directory.  We  cannot  too  urgently  rec 
ommend  this  forthcoming  book  to  the  notice  of  the  public, 
and  to  their  generous  support  and  sympathy.  In  San 
Francisco,  so  famous  for  its  benevolence,  let  us  hope  that 
many  thousand  copies  of  the  work  may  be  sold.  May  it  be 
very  widely  circulated  in  every  city  of  the  Union,  so  that 
its  sale  may  realize  a  sum  which  shall  be  employed  for  the 
salvation  of  countless  unfortunates.  The  funds  of  the  in 
stitution  are  very  low,  and  the  charitable  assistance  of 
persons  of  all  classes  and  creeds  is  earnestly  solicited.  It 
is  not  a  question  of  Protestant  or  Catholic,  Jew  or  Gentile, 
but  of  all  who  are  homeless,  friendless,  destitute  and  in 
danger  of  perishing,  either  morally  or  physically.  Thoso 
who  can  send  donations  of  any  kind,  may  direct  the  same  to 
Mr.  Ambrose  P.  Dietz,  director  and  superintendent,  House 
of  Reception,  1417  Howard  street,  San  Francisco,  Califor 
nia.  The  smallest  offerings  will  be  thankfully  received, 
and  let  those  who  cannot  make  such  offerings,  purchase  at 
least  one  copy  of  the  book,  and  in  that  way  participate  in  the 
good  work,  and  merit  the  blessing  of  Him  who  said:  "In 
asmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  these  my  least 
brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  Me. 

ANNA  T.  SADLIER. 
New  York,  November,  1878. 


FOR 


OUE  BOYS. 


CHEISTMAS  ADDKESS  TO    GIRLS   AND  BOYS. 

BY  REV.  DR.  HENRY  W.  BELLOWS. 

THERE  Lave  always  been  children  in  the  world;  and 
I  suppose  they  have  always  been  happy  in  their  fresh 
spirits  and  young  bodies.  Yet  it  is  worth  while  to 
inquire  how  children  lived  and  thought,  before  the 
blessed  day  when  Jesus  Christ  came  into  the  world  and 
made  Christmas. 

Let  us,  then,  go  back  and  imagine  the  children  meet 
ing,  if  there  ever  were  any  such  meetings  in  those  days, 
in  the  shadow  of  some  Greek  temple,  and  ask  ourselves 
what  they  would  be  thinking  about.  The  sky  was  al 
ways  beautiful;  they  must  have  looked  tip  into  it,  and 
must  sometimes  have  said,  "Who  made  it?"  And  if 
their  parents  heard  them  they  must  have  replied,  "Ju 
piter  or  Saturn."  "Well,  who  is  Jupiter?"  "Oh,  Jupiter 
is  the  god  of  all  the  gods;  he  lives  on  Olympus,  eats 
banquets,  quarrels  with  Neptune  arid  Yulcan,  and  espec 
ially  with  Juno  and  Yenus.  He  is  a  petulant,  self-in 
dulgent  being  who  is  up  to  all  sorts  of  tricks,  jokes 
and  sports,  and  particularly  fond  of  disgracing  himself." 
"And  does  he  care  for  us;  and  can  we  love  and  honor 
him?"  "Oh,  we  must  all  honor  the  gods,  because  they 
are  very  powerful  and  can  do  us  great  harm  if  we  neg 
lect  any  of  their  sacrifices." 
2 


18  CHRISTMAS    ADDRESS. 

"Do  you  think  the  children  would  be  very  well 
satisfied,  or  very  much  improved  and  sobered  and 
blessed  by  such  an  account  ?  And  if  one  of  their 
playmates  or  their  mother  and  father  died,  and  the 
children  should  ask,  "what  has  become  of  them?'' 
They  would  have  to  be  told  that  they  had  gone  down  to 
the  under- world,  to  cross  the  river  Styx,  with  old  Charon 
for  boatman,  and  to  wander  about  as  shades,  longing 
for  the  light  of  the  sun;  or  perhaps  that  there  was  no 
hope  that  they  lived  at  all.  If  children  felt  dissatisfied 
with  this  and  said,  "Are  there  no  priests  or  wise  men 
who  know  anything  about  God,  or  the  future,  better  than 
this?"  They  might  have  been  directed  to  the  temples, 
and  there  the  sooth-sayers  and  augurs  might  have  said: 
"Well,  we  will  inspect  the  entrails  of  beasts  or  watch 
the  flight  of  the  birds,  and  see  whether  they  cannot  tell 
us  something  about  what  the  gods  wish." 

"But  is  there  no  holy  book  where  we  can  turn  and 
read  for  ourselves  what  the  gods  wish?"  "No, "they 
would  say,  "  we  have  some  scrolls  from  the  Sibyls  and 
some  oracles  at  Delphi,  but  nothing  we  can  put  into 
your  hands." 

"But  is  there  no  great  and  holy  teacher,  whom  you 
love  and  revere,  who  has  authority  to  answer  our  ques 
tions?"  "Alas!  we  had  a  wise  man,  called  Socrates, 
who  was  good  and  great;  but  he  had  a  very  cross  wife, 
and  was  fond  of  banquets  and  banter.  When  anybody 
asked  him  anything,  his  way  was  to  ask  back  so  many 
questions  of  his  own  that  everybody  went  away,  think 
ing  'what  a  fool  I  am,  and  how  little  the  wisest  know 
about  anything!"  He  was  the  best  they  had,  but  the 
people  felt  so  angry  with  his  wisdom  that  they  made 
him  drink  hemlock  and  put  him  to  death.  I  don't  thick 
the  children  could  have  had  much  comfort  in  those  clays 


CHRISTMAS    ADDRESS.  19 

out  of  their  religion.  The  best  thing  they  could  do  was 
to  forget  it  and  all  thoughts  about  Jupiter  or  the  future 
world,  and  try  to  make  the  most  t'hey  could  out  of  the 
pleasures  they  found  here.  I  dare  say  there  were  some 
children  then  who  felt  the  awful  voice  of  conscience  in 
their  hearts,  and  were  terrified  with  its  accents;  who  said 
bravely,  "Well,  Jupiter  doesn't  care  about  us,  and 
there  is  no  use  in  asking  any  questions  about  what  is  to 
become  of  us;  but  still,  duty  and  virtue  are  and  must  be 
sacred  things,  and  it  is  better  to  follow  them  even  into 
danger  and  death,  than  to  follow  pleasure  and  vice  into 
success,  power  and  ease."  It  was  this  exceptional  feel 
ing  that  kept  religion  alive  in  those  dark,  ignorant 
heathen  times.  But  the  Jewish  boys,  during  all  this  time, 
were  having  a  much  better  instruction.  They  were 
carefully  brought  up,  even  the  richest  of  them,  to  know 
some  trade  and  useful  handicraft;  for  their  great  prophet 
Moses,  and  their  wise  men  who  wrote  psalms  and  pro 
verbs,  had  taught  them  that  idleness  and  dependence 
were  disgraceful.  They,  alas!  did  not  have  any  clear 
teaching  about  immortality,  but  they  had  glorious  teach 
ing  about  God.  And  what  a  different  God  it  is  from 
Jove  or  Saturn! — a  holy  God,  who  showed  no  weak  hu 
man  passions;  the  God  of  the  good  Abraham,  the  wise 
Moses,  the  excellent  young  Samuel,  and  the  fine  young 
King  Josiah;  the  God  who  loves  righteousness  and  ad 
ministers  justice.  And  He  had  a  great  servant,  who 
was  in  place  of  Christ  to  them,  who  wrote  the  Tables  of 
the  Law,  and  was  just,  noble,  meek  and  holy, — Moses! 
But  he  was  not  so  wise  as  not  to  think  God  loved  sacri 
fices  of  oxen  and  goats;  not  so  wise  as  not  to  teach  re 
venge  and  hatred  of  enemies — an  eye  for  an  eye  and  a 
tooth  for  a  tooth;  not  so  wise  as  to  know  that  there  was 
any  future  abode  for  the  departed,  or  any  means  but 


20  CHRISTMAS    ADDRESS. 

that  of  violence  and  war  to  conquer  the  cause  of  true 
religion.  You  know,  as  you  read  your  Old  Testament, 
how  the  Jews  pursued  and  slew  their  enemies,  and  how 
they  despised  all  other  nations,  and  how  they  thought 
their  God  a  partial  God,  who  loved  them,  but  cared 
nothing  for  those  who  were  not  Jews  too. 

Do  you  wonder,  dear  children,  that  the  world  keeps 
Christmas!  Think  what  happened  then.  A  child  was 
born  of  humble  parents  at  Bethlehem,  who  was  destined 
to  grow  up  so  full  of  wisdom,  light  and  knowledge  of 
God,  that  his  mother,  even  in  his  infancy,  felt  him  to 
be  not  so  much  her  child  as  God's  son.  When  twelve 
years  old  he  could  talk  with  the  great  Rabbis  in  the 
Temple,  and  ask  questions  that  confounded  them. 
Though  the  son  of  a  carpenter,  and  brought  up  without 
any  such  schooling  in  science  and  literature  as  every 
poor  boy  in  America  can  have  at  any  common  school, 
he  was  so  taught  by  God's  spirit,  that  he  saw  and  heard 
and  knew  things  about  his  Father's  will  and  character, 
and  about  immortality  and  the  future  life,  that  all  the 
sages  and  saints,  either  in  Jadea  or  Egypt,  Greece  or 
Rome,  had  never  been  able  to  guess,  much  less  to  know 
them.  And  what  he  knew  of  old,  he  lived  and  taught 
by  his  example,  and  communicated  to  holy  but  humble 
followers  who  wrote  it  down  in  the  Gospels.  In  proof 
of  his  faith  in  God's  will  and  mercy,  and  in  immor 
tality,  he  willingly  died  to  show  that  life  is  not  a  thing 
of  flesh  and  blood,  but  of  the  spirit  and  heart  and  soul; 
and  that  God  is  to  be  obeyed  and  submitted  to  as  a 
Father,  even  though  His  Providence  comes  as  through 
suffering  and  darkness  and  death. 

Think  what  this  dear,  blessed  Master,  this  holy  child 
and  exalted  Christ,  has  done  for  the  world!  Christmas- 
day  we  shall  be  rejoicing  in  his  birth;  the  bells  will  be 


CHRISTMAS    ADDEESS.  21 

ringing  and  the  chimes  singing  the  angels'  song,  and 
you  will  be  giving  and  receiving  gifts  in  token  of  the 
great  gift  that  God  gave  us  on  that  Christmas  morning 
when  His  Son  came  into  the  world.  And  just  a  week 
afterward  you  will  be  keeping  the  New  Year,  and  it  will 
be  the  year  of  our  Lord  1879,  the  date  of  the  Christian 
era.  It  was  a  new  time,  the  world  began  over  again 
when  Jesus  came;  for  he  made  our  heavenly  father  to 
be  clearly  known.  No  more  any  necessity  of  asking 
who  God  is  or  what  God  is !  He  is  the  Perfect,  the  All- 
good,  the  All-wise,  the  All-merciful,  the  All-father!  He 
is  the  God  and  Father  of  the  dear  and  gentle,  the  pure 
and  sinless  Jesus. 

You  need  not  go  out  and  question  the  heaven  and  the 
earth,  the  soothsayers  and  augurs,  to  know  who  made 
you,  and  in  whose  Providence  you  live!  You  have  only 
to  go  and  look  into  the  face  of  the  dear  Master  who 
loved  to  take  little  children  up  in  his  arms  and  say, 
"  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  Heaven,"  to  know  that  the 
Father  of  such  a  Son,  whom  he  loves  so  perfectly,  and 
trusts  so  completely,  is  a  holy,  kind,  merciful,  and  all- 
powerful  Being,  whose  character  and  purposes  are 
wholly  to  be  loved  and  adored.  You  need  not  be  ask 
ing  the  earth  what  she  does  with  the  poor,  faded  wreck 
of  the  body  when  it  is  laid  in  her  bosom.  She  cannot 
answer!  But  Jesus  says,  "I  am  the  Resurrection  and 
the  Life;  he  that  believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead, 
yet  shall  he  live."  He  has  abolished  death  and  opened 
Heaven,  and  lifted  our  hearts  and  faith  to  all  the  glori 
ous  hopes  that  reach  beyond  time  and  this  world. 
Think  what  his  precepts  arid  spirit  have  made  the  world 
compared  with  what  it  once  was !  We  know  what  Wash 
ington,  and  Franklin,  and  Adams  did  to  make  our  coun 
try  free  and  prosperous,  and  what  great  patriots  and 


22  CHRISTMAS    ADDRESS. 

heroes  Lave  done  for  other  countries;  what  we  owe  to 
the  great  men  that  invented  printing,  discovered  Amer 
ica,  found  out  the  force  of  steam,  and  first  created  rail 
roads  and  telegraphs.     But  what  are   even  those  who 
measured  the  distance  of  the  sun  from   the  earth,   or 
united  the  hemisphere  by  steam  navigation  and  wires,  to 
Him  who  first  bound  God  and  man  in  friendship;  filled 
up  the  awful  gulf  of  death;  said  to  the  poor,  You  are 
just  as  dear  to  God  as  the  rich;  said  to  Virtue,  afraid 
and   wavering,    Do  right    and  God   will  reward  you, 
though  you  die  on  a  cross;  taught  men  to  love  their 
enemies,  ma<jle  home  sacred  by  abolishing  polygamy, 
told  the  nations  they  are  all  one  before  God ;  and  all 
the  races,  black,  white  and  red,   "Ye  are  all  of  one 
blood;"  spoke  to  children,  saying,  You  are  the  heirs  of 
immortality;  stood  by  the  bier  and  said,   "She  is  not 
dead,  but  sleepeth;"  and  "Arise,  and  go  to  your  mother." 
Ah!  my  dear  children,  you  have   a  thousand  reasons 
you  do  not  yet  know,  and  perhaps  a  thousand  more  I 
can  not  yet  understand  myself,  but  shall  in  eternity,  for 
keeping   Christmas.      The   world  will   yet   be   full  of 
Christmas  wreaths,  and  Christmas  gifts,  and  Christmas 
chimes;  and  some  day  there  will  be  one  grand  Christ 
mas  tree,  hung  over  with  millions  of  precious  gifts — 
education,  justice,  equality,  mercy,  etc., — broken  can 
non    and   swords    hanging  useless    upon   its    boughs; 
treaties  of  peace  and  love  among  all  the  nations;  all 
the  idols  and  sacrifices  of  the  heathen  placed  as  curious 
relics  of  departed  ignorance  in  its  shade,  and  the  whole 
world   joining   hands,    dancing  around  it   in   joy   and 
brotherly  love;  all  converted  to  God,  all  knowing  Jesus 
in  his  beauty,  from  the  least  to  the  greatest;  the  chil 
dren  all  obeying  their  parents  and  honoring  their  teach 
ers,  keeping  their  lips  from  soil  and  their  hands  from 


CALIFORNIA.  23 

stain;  all  able  to  look  upon  death  without  a  shudder; 
all  ceasing  to-  be  afraid  of  ghosts  and  goblins  in  the 
dark;  all  loving  the  light  of  truth  and  the  voice  of  duty, 
and  thinking  it  a  joy  and  a  privilege  to  be  good  and 
useful.  What  a  blessed  Christmas  it  will  be,  when 
Jesus'  spirit  has  become  the  law  of  the  whole  earth; 
when  sin,  and  unbelief,  and  ignorance  of  God  and  duty 
are  banished  in  the  victory  of  his  holy  and  heavenly 
testimony ! 


CALIFORNIA. 

BY  SAMUEL  C.  UPHAM. 

THY  city  and  harbor,  proud  golden-gemmed  Queen, 
Are  rivaled  by  none  the  world  has  e'er  seen; 
Thy  merchants  and  bankers,  like  Croesus  of  old, 
Have  locked  in  their  coffers  their  millions  untold. 
The  school-house  and  college,  like  beacon-lights  stand, 
In  vale  and  on  hill-top,  the  pride  of  thy  land; 
Still,  we,  in  tby  closet  two  skeletons  see — 
The  vagabond  "Hoodlum,"  and  "  Heathen  Chinee." 

Hamlets  like  magic  to  large  cities  have  grown, 
The  rancher o  has  reaped  the  grain  he  has  sown, 
The  vine  and  the  fig  tree  are  laden  with  fruit, 
And  the  breezes  blow  soft  as  the  tones  of  the  lute; 
The  orange  tree  blossoms  and  fruits  in  the  vale, 
The  date  and  pomegranate,  'mid  sand  and  the  shale. 
The  filbert  and  almond,  and  manna  of  yore, 
All  abound  in  the  land  that  we  love  and  adore. 


24  WORK. 

WOEK. 

BY  HUBERT  H.  BANCROFT. 

Get  leave  to  work 

In  this  world,  'tis  the  best  you  get  at  all; 
For  God,  in  cursing,  gives  us  better  gifts 
Than  men  in  benediction.     God  says  "Sweat 
For  foreheads;"  men  say  "crowns;"  and  so  we  are  crowned, 
Ay,  gashed  by  some  tormenting  circle  of  steel 
Which  snaps  with  a  secret  sping.     Get  work;  get  work; 
Be  sure  'tis  better  than  what  you  work  to  get. 

Mrs.  Browning. 

THE  necessity  to  labor,  we  have  been  told,  is  an  evil, 
the  first  and  sum  of  evils,  offspring  of  the  primal 
curse,  spawn  of  Adaniic  transgression,  born  of  the  ser 
pent  which  envenoms  all,  which  cradles  humanity  in 
thistles  and  thorns,  and  clothes  us  in  galling  fetters  to 
be  worn  midst  sorrow  and  sweat  until  the  body  returns 
to  dust.  It  is  the  severest  punishment  Divine  vengeance 
can  conjure  for  the  disobedient,  the  heaviest  infliction 
Almighty  power  may  lay  upon  the  seed  of  woman  for 
her  sin  of  curiosity.  And  the  curse  of  curses,  Cain's 
curse,  was  that  he  should  labor  and  reap  no  reward. 

These  precepts  accord  with  our  earliest  impressions 
of  labor.  The  child  abhors  his  task.  It  is  neither  af 
fection,  food,  nor  any  good  thing;  and  instinctively  he 
feels  that  it  is  not.  It  is  a  penalty  he  must  pay,  not 
having  committed  any  crime;  a  slavery  he  must  under 
go,  though  freeborn.  Even  brutes  blush  and  hang 
their  heads,  being  harnessed  to  man's  infelicities. 

Enjoyment  alone,  the  creatures  of  a  beneficent  Creator 
claim  as  their  birthright.  Therefore  call  it  pleasure 
and  the  exercise  is  easy;  whereas  pleasure  itself  is  pain 
ful  if  done  as  duty.  In  childhood,  how  much  of  activity 
and  fatigue  we  laughingly  undergo  in  the  name  of  fun; 


WORK.  25 

how  intolerably  dull  and  spirit-crushing  the  labor-lesson 
our  kind  parent  gives  us  to  learn.  To  him  at  play  the 
winter  has  no  cold,  nor  is  the  longest,  hottest  summer's 
day  wearisome;  but  over  the  light  unfinished  task  the 
songs  of  birds  strike  heavily  upon  the  ear,  the  fresh 
fragrant  breath  of  heaven  is  hateful,  and  the  joyful  sun's 
rays  stinging  scorpions. 

And  in  grown-up  children  we  see  drawn  the  same  dis 
tinctions.     With    what    nervous    delight    the    delicate 
young  woman  dances  the  dark  hours  through,  when, 
were  those  midnight  whirls  and  ambles  necessary  or 
useful,  how  terrible  the  infliction.     Happy  as  a  beaver 
the  young  man  rises  before  day  to  a  ten-mile    tramp 
over  the  hills  for  a  possible  shot  at  a  deer,  when,  did  his 
breakfast  every  morning  depend  upon  such  early  and 
severe  exertion,  better  die  at  once  than  keep  up  life  at 
such  a  cost.     Even  old  prosaic  practical  men  and  hum 
drum  women,   cheerful  as  cackling  barn-fowls,   every 
summer  leave  their  home  comforts,  their  clean  carpets 
and  soft  beds,  their  carriage  and  garden  and  well-stored 
larder  and  flyless  parlor  and  cool  verandah,  and  go  into 
voluntary  exile,  become  savage,  or  at  least  sylvan,  in 
their  dust-hole  under   the  chaparral  or  buckeye,   eat 
ing  indigestible  food,  breathing  the  blistering  air,  and 
sweltering  through  the  shelterless  day,  only  at  night  to 
stretch  themselves  with  no  small  show  of  satisfaction 
upon  the  flea-and-fever-breediug  earth,  there  to  wait  the 
slow  approach  of  sleep,  while  the  mosquito's  soft  so 
prano  becomes  lost  in  the  loud  contralto  of  the  sympa 
thetic  frog,  —  when,  were  it  all  done  from  necessity,  what 
a  wail  would  go  heavenward  over  the  bitterness  of  their 
lot!     So  by  the  simple  name  of  sport  do  we  sweeten  the 
very  dregs  of  drudgery. 

Not  only  does  the  labor  we  delight  in  physic  pain, 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


26  WORK. 

but  such  effort  ceases  to  bo  labor  in  the  sense  here 
•used;  that  is,  as  a  burden  to  be  borne,  a  means  to  an 
end.  Pleasures  pall,  and  men  are  sometimes  driven  to 
do  things  useful  through  sheer  ennui;  but  activity  then 
becomes  delightful,  and  the  necessity  being  removed, 
comes  not  under  the  curse,  and  only  shows  that  there 
are  some  whom  wealth  and  luxury  cannot  wholly  debase. 

In  all  industry,  in  commerce,  agriculture,  and  manu 
factures;  in  mechanical  or  intellectual  pursuits;  in  edu 
cation  and  religion,  by  all  mankind  throughout  all  ages, 
it  seems  to  have  been  tacitly  implied  that,  however  ben 
eficial  the  result  of  labor,  work  per  se  is  a  curse.  It  is 
something  to  be  deplored;  something  to  be  endured,  re 
warded;  and  it  is  performed,  for  the  most  part,  in  the 
hope  and  endeavor  of  ultimate  relief  from  it.  Who  has 
not  this  hope,  and  what  would  life  be  without  it?  How 
often  we  hear  it  said,  When  I  have  so  much  money,  when 
my  new  house  is  built,  my  farm  paid  for,  my  sons  edu 
cated,  my  daughters  settled,  I  will  no  longer  labor  at 
this  rate;  I  will  rest,  I  will  fling  care  to  the  winds,  re 
lease  brain  nerves  and  muscles  from  their  life-long  ten 
sion,  take  a  square  look  upward  and  outward,  and  live 
a  little  before  I  die.  But  alas !  how  seldom  is  this 
effected ;  or  if  it  be,  how  laborious  the  laborless  waiting 
for  death  ! 

It  seems  absurd  to  carry  the  question  further,  whether 
the  necessity  to  labor  is  regarded  as  an  evil;  and  yet  I 
wish  it  clearly  understood  in  all  its  practical  as  well  as 
theoretical  bearings,  and  the  fact  admitted. 

Why  does  one  shoulder  a  shovel,  and  another  a  hod, 
and  early  march  to  melancholy  exercise,  when  a  compan 
ionable  pipe  at  the  corner  grocery  is  so  much  preferred? 
The  merchant  who  asserts  that  he  buys  and  sells  merely 
for  pastime  or  accommodation,  and  without  regard  to 


WORK:. 


27 


profit,  is  not  believed.  Nothing  is  sooner  suspected  in 
a  stranger  than  a  display  of  disinterested  benevolence. 
To  what  end  does  the  pioneer  attempt  to  plant  a  home 
in  the  forest?  Is  it  the  delight  experienced  in  swinging 
an  ax  and  seeing  the  chips  fly  ?  He  clears  the  ground, 
and  plows  and  plants;  is  it  pleasure  alone  that 
prompts  this  struggle  with  nature,  or  is  it  done  in  the 
hope  of  presently  resting  from  oppressive  toil  ?  Will 
any  one  wanting  a  house  to  shelter  his  family  say  to 
himself,  It  is  better  for  me  to  build  that  house  than 
that  I  should  be  saved  the  trouble.  Will  any  one  want 
ing  a  fortune  which  shall  give  him  rest  for  the  remain 
der  of  his  life,  which  shall  give  him  leisure  for  the 
pursuit  of  refining  arts  and  pleasures,  which  shall  give 
him  the  means  of  making  happy  those  he  loves,  of  giv 
ing  to  the  poor,  of  building  schools  and  churches, — 
will  he  say,  Better  for  me  to  rack  my  brain  and  ply  my 
fingers  early  in  the  morning  and  late  into  the  night,  day 
after  day  for  twenty  or  forty  years,  meanwhile  keeping 
my  feet  to  the  treadmill,  my  eyes  to  the  click  and  clap 
trap  of  money-making,  until  with  old  age  is  frozen 
every  generous  impulse;  shutting  forever  from  my  un 
derstanding  all  the  God-given  beauties  and  benefits 
that  hang  like  a  starry  canopy  above  my  head,  to  the 
very  hemming  of  my  horizon ;  will  he  say,  Better  for  me 
to  endure  all  this,  sacrifice  all  this,  and  that,  too,  while 
attended  by  a  hundred  necessary  risks  and  ventures, 
any  one  of  which  may  wreck  all,  than  to  find  it  ready 
made,  with  a  life-time  in  which  to  enjoy  it. 

Or  if  his  soul  hungers  for  the  higher  good;  if,  indif 
ferent  to  wealth  and  social  distinction,  thoughts  of  the 
great  What,  and  Wlience,  and  Whither,  urge  him  to  a 
more  defined  understanding  of  his  being  and  surround 
ings;  and  if,  without  the  laborious  accumulating  and 


28  WORK. 

analyzing  of  experiences,  without  days  of  nervous  in 
vestigating  and  long  nights  of  mental  strain,  scores 
of  years  of  the  severest  study  might  be  overleaped,  and 
the  youth  know  as  the  sage, — would  he  not  be  a  dolt, 
an  idiot,  to  refuse  any  Aladdin-lamp  assistance  on  the 
ground  that  the  sole  travail  of  knowledge  was  itself  a 
blessing,  the  intellectual  and  moral  faculties  thus 
aroused,  exercised,  and  developed,  which  were  other 
wise  non-existent  or  dormant,  being  more  beneficial 
than  Minerva-births  or  other  spontaneous  results? 

This  daily  dead-lift  of  labor  that  walls  every  avenue 
of  progress,  that  hangs  like  Dantean  darkness  over 
every  effort  of  aspiring  intelligence,  that  lays  inex 
orably  its  burden  upon  the  shoulder  alike  of  artisan 
and  clerk,  of  merchant  and  manufacturer,  of  student 
and  professor,  of  lawyer,  doctor  and  preacher, — will 
any  one  say  that  it  is  a  good  thing,  something  in  and  of 
itself  to  be  desired  ? 

In  a  word,  is  not  labor  regarded  by  mankind  gener 
ally,  if  not  an  absolute  curse,  yet  less  a  blessing  than 
the  absence  of  its  necessity  ? 

Most  assuredly. 

And  yet  mankind  are  wrong.  Either  the  Creator  is 
a  merciless  tyrant,  and  creation  a  botch,  or  this  great 
agony  of  our  existence  is  a  blessing. 

I  know  that  one  step  farther  carries  our  investigation 
beyond  its  depth;  and  I  do  not  purpose  speculation.  I 
wish  to  confine  myself  to  the  plainest,  simplest  view  of 
the  case,  the  proximate  and  practical  parts  of  these  life- 
embracing  anomalies  being  more  than  sufficient  to  oc 
cupy  all  our  attention  in  this  world.  I  will  remark, 
however,  in  passing,  that  to  those  who  care  to  see  the 
truth,  the  clearest  of  all  propositions  is  that  there  can 
not  exist  in  nature  two  absolute  and  ultimate  oppugnant 


WOKE.  29 

forces;  there  cannot  exist  in  reason,  or  sane  superstition, 
within  the  confines  of  one  universe,  two  omnipotences. 
Hence,  though  we  observe  here  attraction  and  repulsion, 
we  must  conclude  that  eternal  equilibrium  is  the  only 
true  and  living  force;  though  we  see  life  and  death,  and 
pain  and  pleasure,  we  must  conclude  either  that  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  absolute  and  ultimate  good,  or  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  absolute  and  ultimate  evil. 
Therefore  that  which  we  call  evil  is  not  evil,  or  that 
which  we  call  good  is  not  good.  But  this  abstract  and 
metaphysical  view  of  the  question  I  touch  as  one  grop 
ing  in  the  dark  touches  a  hot  stove,  only  to  avoid  it. 
Until  the  horizon  of  our  intelligence  uplifts  and  opens 
into  a  clearer  Beyond,  let  the  Here  and  Now  chiefly 
occupy  our  thoughts. 

Here  and  now,  I  say  then,  it  is  in  work  itself,  rather 
than  in  the  accomplished  result,  that  the  true  benefit  of 
labor  lies.  We  have  been  wrongly  taught;  nor  is  this 
the  only  instance  wherein  our  teachers  need  instructing. 

Of  all  laws  that  environ  us,  and  they  are  legion,  not 
one  is  more  palpable  than  that  by  the  exercise  of  organs 
and  faculties  alone  they  develop.  In  this,  science,  phi 
losophy,  religion,  and  common  sense  agree.  It  is  the 
pivot  upon  which  all  progress  turns,  the  central  princi 
ple  alike  in  universal  evolution  and  in  individual  devel 
opment.  Organs  and  organisms  improve  according  to 
use.  The  blacksmith  does  not  acquire  strength  to  swing 
his  hammer  by  running  foot  races,  nor  does  the  logician 
become  proficient  in  subtle  reasoning  by  counting 
money  or  selling  bacon.  Bind  a  limb  and  it  withers; 
put  out  one  eye,  and  the  other  performs  the  work  of 
two.  Mind  and  muscle  alike  grow,  improve,  acquire 
strength  and  elasticity,  only  by  exercise.  Little  is  ex 
pected  of  the  man  who  in  youth  was  never  sent  to  school 


30  WOBK. 

or  required  to  work.  So  obvious  is  this  that  it  is  hardly 
worth  discussing;  and  yet  this  fact  proved,  all  is  proved, 
for  we  all  prefer  our  physique  and  faculties  strong  and 
well-developed,  rather  than  shriveled  or  decayed.  We 
all  agree  that  so  long  as  we  are  a  part  of  this  planet  it  is 
better  to  be  alive  than  dead.  How  much  happier,  more 
active  and  intelligent,  are  the  aged  who  keep  alive  their 
limbs  and  faculties  by  using  them,  than  those  who  give 
up  exercise  and  thereby  sink  into  early  dotage. 

True,  it  may  be  said  that  any  benefit  derived  from 
work  is  a  result;  that  the  skill,  strength,  and  consequent 
development  arising  from  labor  are  as  much  the  results 
of  labor  as  the  article  manufactured  or  the  price  paid.  But 
the  word  result  I  use  here  only  in  its  more  general  sense, 
and  as  applied  to  the  direct  and  material  results  rather 
than  to  the  effort,  agency,  or  exercise,  which,  though 
certainly  results  in  one  sense,  yet  for  the  purpose  of 
this  article  I  put  in  direct  opposition  to  common  material 
effect. 

We  all  know  what  are  his  chances  for  happiness  who 
retires,  without  intellectual  resources,  from  a  business 
in  which  he  has  long  been  engaged.  A  potato-patch 
and  hoe  are  paradise  beside  such  a  situation.  Often 
the  weary-brained  city  man  thinks  elysium  were  found 
if  only  he  might  stretch  himself  under  his  own  oak-tree 
in  the  country;  but  worse  than  protested  notes  soon  be 
comes  this  nauseating  dolce  far  inente.  On  the  other 
hand,  for  a  lazy  or  brainless  man,  having  neither  ideas 
nor  energy,  an  inactive  life  with  a  competency  is  para 
dise,  though  swine  were  his  companions. 

Narrowing  the  subject  yet  closer,  let  us  apply  our 
proof  to  the  questions  asked  a  moment  ago. 

That  the  child  dislikes  it,  does  not  make  labor  bene 
ficial;  but  that  disliking  he  is  forced  to  perform  it 


WOEK.  31 

shows  that,  by  the  experienced  who  have  his  true  inter 
ests  at  heart,  it  is  deemed  essential  to  his  well-being. 
That  men  and  women  pretend  to  a  greater  delight  in 
recreation  than  in  application  proves  nothing,  but  only 
shows  that  they  regard  labor  a  necessary  evil.  That 
pleasures  pall  does  not  prove  work  better  than  pastime, 
but  only  that  in  pleasure  we  must  not  seek  the  highest 
earthly  good.  Coming  to  the  sand-shoveler  and  the 
hod-carrier,  it  seems  somewhat  questionable  whether 
the  exercise  to  their  already  labor-stiffened  limbs  is 
preferable  to  the  two  dollars  a  day  upon  which  the  com 
fort  of  the  family  depends.  But  let  it  not  be  under 
stood  that  I  object  to  the  reward,  or  imagine  that  there 
ever  could  be  such  a  condition  of  affairs  as  that  men 
should  work  without  pay  or  return,  and  for  the  mere 
benefit  of  work.  Yet  in  this  extreme  case  of  a  common 
day-laborer,  I  think  the  rule  holds  good.  Better,  I  say, 
he  should  have  fair  wages  and  so  support  his  family,  but 
in  the  absence  of  any  just  compensation,  better  to  work 
for  nothing  and  keep  up  a  good  digestion,  were  there 
anything  in  him  to  digest,  than  to  spend  money  spoiling 
it  at  the  ale-house,  or  even  that  he  should  lie  idle 
and  rust.  The  work  then  is  better  than  the  pay, 
not  because  the  pay  is  not  good,  but  because  in 
absolute  idleness  the  laboring  class  would  be  worse 
than  swine,  and  unfit  to  live.  Behold  humanity  breed 
ing  like  maggots  upon  the  putridity  of  effortless  exist 
ence!  There  is  nothing  in  Stygian  pools  so  low,  so 
horribly  repulsive.  Such  a  state,  in  which  intellect  or 
even  instinct  were  necessarily  absent,  would  be  savag- 
ism  so  pluralized  and  beastliness  so  besotted  as  were 
impossible  for  the  mind  of  man  to  conceive. 

So  it  is  with  the  merchant,  the  pioneer,  the  student; 
I  would  the  material  results  were  ten  times  what  they 


32  WOEK. 

are;  but  even  in  the  absence  of  these,  did  work  stop, 
decay  would  ensue.  In  regard  to  the  house  and  fortune 
illustrations;  is  not  the  ability  to  build  houses  and  ac 
quire  fortunes  preferable  to  the  house  and  fortune  them 
selves  ?  For  the  ability  being  present,  the  object  may 
be  attained,  but  in  the  absence  of  ability,  with  the  loss 
of  fortune  the  state  of  the  individual  is  deplorable  in 
deed. 

Results  die;  agencies  are  eternal.  Merit  lies  not  in 
possession,  but  in  capability.  In  measuring  a  man,  the 
wise  ask  not  what  has  he,  but  what  can  he  do?  If  labor 
is  not  better  than  the  reward,  then  life  is  a  sad  failure; 
for  after  a  life-time  of  labor,  of  all  that  we  acquire  we 
can  carry  nothing  with  us  out  of  the  world. 

Look  at  those  who  live,  so  to  say,  without  work. 
There  are  first  the  savages,  who  nationally  approach  the 
nearest  possible  this  state.  They  pluck  fruit  and  eat  it; 
skin  beasts  and  clothe  themselves,  or  else  go  naked. 
Though  even  this  requires  some  exertion  it  is  not  exactly 
what  we  call  labor.  But  the  very  first  movement  toward 
another  state  is  work.  Give  them  the  result  of  labor 
without  end  and  you  do  not  change  them.  Build  a  city 
in  the  wilderness  and  house  the  savages,  that  does  not 
civilize  them.  Clothe  them  in  broadcloth,  they  are  not 
gentlemen;  buy  them  books,  they  are  not  learned;  build 
them  temples,  they  are  not  thereby  worshippers  of  the 
true  God. 

Pass  at  once  to  the  opposite  extreme,  to  the  super- 
civilized,  those  favored  of  fortune,  as  the  stupid  and 
ignorant  call  them,  born  to  everything  earth  can  give. 
They  indeed  have  their  garments  made  ready,  their 
houses  built  for  them,  their  destiny,  I  might  almost  say, 
carved  by  circumstances  before  they  were  born.  With 
out  effort  they  enter  upon  the  good  things  of  life  to  en- 


WORK.  33 

joy  them.  Are  these  the  blessed  of  this  world?  By  no 
means. 

Next  to  being  born  blind  or  deaf,  or  otherwise  de 
formed  or  diseased,  the  greatest  calamity  that  can  hap 
pen  one  is  to  be  born  rich;  the  greatest  calamity, 
because  the  chances  are  a  hundred  to  one  that,  beside 
becoming  thereby  enervated  in  body  and  mind,  such  a 
person,  when  pricked  by  those  adversities  which  sooner 
or  later  befall,  will  collapse  like  a  blown  bladder.  To 
the  wealthy  of  California  was  given  one  blessing  forever 
denied  their  children.  They  were  born  poor;  they  were 
the  makers  of  their  money,  and  that  in  itself  implies 
some  merit,  howsoever  unintellectual  they  were  satisfied 
to  remain,  or  howsoever  immoral  some  of  them  may 
have  become  in  the  operation.  For  a  passionate  pur 
suit  of  wealth  is  in  itself  debasing;  but  passionate 
progress  does  not  long  continue.  Not  less  than  the  un 
successful,  the  fortunate  in  the  struggle  for  wealth  die; 
and  the  generation  following,  lacking,  peradventure,  the 
money-grasping  mania,  will  not  exert  itself  as  did  its 
predecessor;  and  to  every  five  hundred  who  ride  their 
father's  fast  horses  to  the  devil,  perhaps  five  turn  their 
attention  to  ennobling  pastimes. 

The  second  and  succeeding  generations  of  the  wealthy 
of  this  world,  as  a  class,  move  in  an  atmosphere  of  sub 
limated  savagism.  Some  few  ape  learning  and  affect 
the  higher  good,  but  not  many  willingly  forego  pleas 
ures  within  their  grasp  for  a  life  of  refining  toil.  Let 
us  hope,  however,  for  the  best,  for  intellectual  revival 
always  follows  a  long  period  of  material  prosperity. 
Surfeited  of  gold  even  Midas  remembers  his  mind,  and 
turns  to  it  for  some  new  enjoyment.  In  all  the  abnor 
mities  of  moral  economy,  there  is  none  so  productive  of 
evil  as  this  laborless  inheriting  of  the  results  of  labor. 
3 


34  WOKE. 

Nature  nowhere  so  debases  herself;  the  vine-root  and 
the  flower-stalk,  workers  with  the  invisible  in  life's 
great  laboratory,  in  the  subtle  chemistry  of  their  owrn 
secret  processes,  bring  from  the  same  soil,  each  after 
its  kind,  painted  and  perfumed  fruits  and  flowers,  which 
are  nature's  riches.  Wealth  is  the  product  of  labor  ap 
plied  to  natural  objects,  and  to  be  of  benefit  to  the 
individual  must  grow  from  his  own  personal  efforts. 
The  productiveness  of  a  community  depends  upon  the 
knowledge  and  skill  of  its  members,  rather  than  upon 
natural  advantages. 

Now  it  requires  no  great  keenness  of  observation, 
whatever  your  creed  or  ethical  code  may  be  as  to  caus 
ations  and  consequences,  to  see  that  nature  is  our  mas 
ter,  that  she  rules  us  with  an  iron  hand,  by  unalterable 
laws,  to  which  it  behooves  us  humbly  to  conform  the 
conduct  of  our  lives.  Nature  is  inexorable.  Obey  her, 
and  she  is  kind;  throw  off  allegiance,  and  she  is  merci 
lessly  cruel.  Whether  you  know,  or  do  not  care  to 
know,  or  forget,  break  one  of  the  least  of  her  laws  and 
you  suffer,  and  in  proportion  to  the  sin.  Only  the  sav 
age  sees  smiles  and  frowns  in  nature;  the  philosopher 
fails  to  discover  wherein  the  slightest  partiality  has 
ever  been  shown  a  votary,  the  slightest  sentiment,  or 
favoritism,  or  interposition,  or  waverings  under  suppli 
cations.  Bain  falls  upon  the  just  and  the  unjust;  fire 
burns  God's  martyrs  as  surely  as  Satan's  servant.  If  I 
overreach  the  precipice  too  far  in  my  effort  to  rescue  a 
fellow-being,  I  am  dashed  in  pieces  as  surely  as  if  I  fall 
in  attempting  revenge  upon  an  enemy. 

In  nature  man  finds  his  counterpart;  she  is  our  great 
example  and  teacher.  If  you  would  know  the  price  of 
happiness,  go  to  nature;  she  will  spread  before  you  a 
true  catalogue  of  rewards  and  punishments.  To  the 


WOBK.  35 

present  codes  of  morality,  creeds  are  by  no  means  es 
sential.  Even  religion  is  not  foolish  enough  to  ask  of 
man  labor  or  sacrifice  for  nothing;  and  nature  asks  no 
more.  Of  nature  and  the  sublimest  selfishness  the  high 
est  ethics  are  built. 

How  much  more  foolish  then  is  man  than  beasts,  be 
ing  part  of  nature,  so  entirely  to  ignore  nature  in  his 
searches  for  happiness,  so  little  to  esteem  his  material 
nature,  his  intellectual  nature,  his  spiritual  nature;  and 
spend  all  these  natural  powers,  through  which  alone  he 
may  receive  blessing,  happiness,  and  peace,  upon  art, 
artifice,  cultivation,  cunning,  and  deceit. 

Before  labor  in  itself  ceases  to  be  beneficial,  the  whole 
economy  of  nature  must  change.  The  inherent  energy 
of  man  is  significant  of  his  laborious  destiny.  So  nature 
groans  under  redundant  energy,  with  here  and  there 
convulsive  throes.  Surrounding  us  is  a  universe  seek 
ing  rest.  This  seeking  is  the  normal  condition  of  affairs; 
for  rest  only  brings  a  desire  for  fresh  activity.  Bodies 
in  motion  labor  to  be  quiet;  bodies  at  rest  labor  to  be 
in  motion.  So  labor  is  the  normal  condition  of  man, 
both  his  will  and  his  necessity.  If  he  wills  not  to  labor, 
necessity  drives  him  to  it;  if  necessity  is  absent  the 
spirit  of  good  or  the  demon  of  evil  stirs  him  to  the  ac 
complishment  of  he  knows  not  what.  Absolute  rest 
once  found,  and  chaos  were  come  again.  Activity  is 
nature's  rest,  God's  rest,  and  man's  only  rest.  "What  is 
absolute  repose  but  death?  And  even  that  most  dread 
of  quietudes  cannot  rest  for  rotting. 

By  work  the  universe  is,  and  man.  Nature  hinges  on 
it;  by  it  worlds  are  whirled  and  held  in  place,  winds 
blow,  and  the  fertilizing  moisture  is  lifted  from  the 
ocean  and  dropped  upon  the  hills;  by  it  instinct  is  and 
intellect,  mind  is  made,  and  soul  implanted;  by  it  grass 


36  WORK. 

grows,  flowers  bloom,  and  the  sunbeam  enters  my  win 
dow, — else  how  without  work  should  it  have  come  so 
far  to  greet  me. 

If  then  to  labor  is  nature's  mandate,  the  reward  being 
no  less  certain  if  I  obey  than  the  punishment  is  sure  if 
I  fail,  what  folly  for  me  to  look  for  a  miracle  in  my  be 
half,  and  expect  to  reap  the  finest  fruit  of  labor,  which 
is  improvement,  not  Avealth,  never  having  plowed  nor 
planted ! 

Let  us  separate  wholly  in  our  minds  effort  from  result. 
Good  results  are  pleasant,  and  often  important;  effort 
is  always  its  own  reward.  Every  well-directed  blow  I 
plant  gives  strength  to  my  arm  and  skill  to  my  fingers 
equally  whether  I  am  paid  for  my  work  or  cheated  of 
it.  Laziness  is  social  gangrene;  like  the  sword  of  Hu- 
dibras,  which  ate  into  itself  for  lack  of  blood  to  eat,  ifc 
is  its  own  perdition. 

And  as  the  spirit  of  labor  constitutes  an  elemental 
part  of  my  nature,  so  the  result  of  my  labor  is  still  one 
with  me.  The  wagon  I  make,  the  picture  I  draw,  the 
page  I  write,  and  even  the  furniture  I  buy  and  place  in 
my  house,  in  their  construction  or  situation,  are  my 
offspring.  My  fingers  or  my  brain  generated  them. 
The  manufactory  which  I  set  in  motion,  or  the  train  of 
trafficldngs  following  my  mercantile  beginnings,  carry 
forever  in  their  clatter  and  commerce  my  thoughts  and 
my  being.  Thus  one  lives  after  one  is  dead,  lives  per 
petually;  for  the  results  of  a  single  blow  never  yet  have 
died,  nor  ever  can  die.  All  else  is  decay  and  desola 
tion;  labor's  fruits  alone  are  eternal. 

Hence,  I  say,  work  in  itself  is  a  blessing;  and  before 
God  himself  can  make  it  a  curse,  he  must  change  the 
order  of  things.  He  may  sow  thistles  in  Adam's  fields, 
and  burn  Cain's  crops;  he  gives  their  seed  progress  for 


WOIIK.  37 

their  pains.  Civilization  is  generally  regarded  a  good 
thing,  though  whether  it  brings  happiness  is  a  moot 
question.  Adam  was  the  first  of  savages;  nor  until  lie 
was  driven  from  his  paradisiacal  garden  could  he  or  his 
children  have  set  out  on  a  progressional  journey.  Per- 
fectmanis  unfitted  for  an  imperfect  world;  and  imperfect 
man  in  paradise,  it  seems,  proved  a  failure. 

And  as  nature's  laws  are  immutable,  and  work  is 
nature's  law,  the  law  of  work  is  immutable.  Philoso 
phers  talk  of  success  and  its  conditions.  Success  has 
no  condition  but  one,  that  is  work.  Honest,  well- 
directed  effort  is  as  sure  to  succeed  as  the  swelling 
rivulet  is  sure  to  find  for  itself  a  channel.  Let  the 
young  man  take  heart,  have  patience,  and  persevere, 
laboring  not  as  in  the  presence  of  a  task-master  whom 
to  defraud  of  time  or  faithfulness  were  a  gain;  but  re 
membering  that  every  good  deed  is  done  for  himself, 
and  makes  him  stronger,  healthier,  wiser,  nobler, 
whether  performed  in  the  dark  or  in  the  broad  light  of 
open  day. 

Finally,  notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  said  about 
the  chronic  discomforts  of  labor,  if  we  probe  the  appar 
ent  evil  deep  enough  we  shall  find  a  substratum  of  pos 
itive  delight.  Beneath  the  surface  of  painful  effort 
there  is  even  at  the  time  a  piquant  pleasure  as  well  as 
profit.  In  devotees  of  discomfort  humanity  has  ever 
found  something  worshipful.  Fleshly  mortifications 
have  made  saints  and  heroes  by  hundreds,  and  gods 
and  demi-gods  by  scores.  The  admiration  excited  by 
an  ascetic  indifference  to  pain  is  more  than  recompense 
for  the  pain.  As  in  the  pursuit  of  wealth,  or  ambition, 
so  in  religion,  present  sufferings  are  joyous  in  view  of 
the  future  reward. 

Further  than  this;  pleasure  is  often  found  in  discom- 


38  WORK. 

fort  where  there  is  no  prospective  gain.  In  roughing 
it,  in  arduous  sports,  in  scaling  mountains  and  penetrat 
ing  unexplored  regions,  a  wild  exhilarating  joy  is  found 
beside  which  effortless  pleasure  is  insipid. 

Much  is  said  in  these  latter  days  about  over-work. 
Of  course  excess  of  any  kind  is  an  evil;  and  the  greater 
the  blessing  the  greater  the  curse  when  carried  too  far. 
Yet  in  my  opinion  there  is  much  less  over-work  than 
many  would  have  us  believe;  much  less  over-work  than 
over-reaching.  It  is  worry  that  kills  men,  not  work. 
The  harrowing  cares  of  over-strained  business;  the 
snapping  of  hungry  hounds  who  follow  at  the  heels  of 
the  unwary,  the  burnings  of  jealousy,  stock-gambling 
and  the  demon  drink,  extravagance  in  dress  and  living — 
these  are  what  wear  life  away.  And  yet  worry  is  a  di 
vine  quality.  Jehovah  worries  over  the  wicked.  How 
Israel  worried  him,  especially  the  leaders  of  Israel, 
Moses,  Jacob,  and  David!  The  worthless  worry  but 
little,  and  brutes  least  of  all.  The  horse  knows  when 
he  is  hungry,  cold,  and  tired;  but  he  does  not  trouble 
himself  about  to-morrow's  work  or  provender.  With  the 
necessary  food,  and  raiment,  and  rest,  work  never  injured 
any  one.  The  student  should  not  neglect  physical  ex 
ercise,  or  the  laboring  or  business  man  intellectual 
culture.  The  highest  attainment  comes  only  with  the 
proper  development  of  both  mind  and  body.  Either 
exercised  unduly  brings  weakness  upon  the  other. 
Work  may  be  varied  with  great  advantage;  and  though 
all  men  cannot  be  always  wise,  it  is  the  height  of  folly 
to  hatch  trouble. 

I  am  well  aware  that  in  discussing  the  benefits  of 
labor  apart  from  the  fruits  of  labor,  in  attempting  to 
define  its  abstract  qualities  and  determine  its  individual 
relationship  to  human  progress,  and  in  alluding  to  its 


A    TRUE     STORY.  39 

presence  or  absence  in  the  economy  of  the  universe, 
I  am  dealing  in  impossibilities.  For  there  is  no  such 
thing  in  nature  as  that  mind  or  matter,,  or  any  part 
or  particle  of  them,  should  for  a  moment  cease  from 
work.  But,  as  before  remarked,  the  abstract  view  I 
have  endeavored  to  avoid,  however  imperfectly  I  may 
have  succeeded;  and  to  those  who  care  to  profit  by  it,  I 
believe  there  is  a  lesson  in  the  acknowledged  fact,  that 
work  of  itself  is  no  curse  but  a  blessing. 


A  TRUE  STORY. 

BY    S.   AUSTIN   ALLIBONE. 

BEFORE  I  tell  the  "true  story,"  I  have  a  few  observa 
tions  to  make: 

I.  It  is  the  duty  of  every  man,  woman  and  child  in 
the  world  to  strive  to  diminish  the  misery  and  increase 
the  happiness  of  his  or  her  fellow-beings.     Every  time 
that  you  take  one  stone  from  the  heap  of  misery,  every 
time  that  you  add  one  stone  to  the  heap  of  .happiness, 
you  are  acting  as  a  philanthropist. 

II.  The  duties  which  you  owe  to  your  fellowrmen  com 
prise  all  efforts  made  for  their  temporal  and  for  their 
eternal  welfare.      Under   the  first  are   included   those 
good   offices   which  pertain  to  their  establishment   in 
trade   or  business  of   any  kind,    procuring   situations, 
helping   by   loans  or  gifts  of   money,  increasing  their 
lists  of  customers,   urging  upon  them  the  necessity  of 
honesty,  industry,  temperance,  etc.     Under  the  last  are 
included  those  good  offices  which  pertain  to  their  moral 
and  spiritual  well-being,  urging  upon  them  the  duty  of 
prayer,    perusal  of  the   Bible  and   other  good   books, 


40  A    TRUE    STORY. 

Sunday-school  and  church  attendance,  the  necessity  of 
conversion,  holiness,  and  zeal  in  good  works. 

III.  The  obligations  to  the  performance  of  the  duties 
above  enumerated  are  of  the  strongest  kind.  They  are 
pleasing  to  heaven  and  earth ;  by  them,  or  by  the  absence 
of  them,  you  are  judged  by  your  fellow-men;  by  them, 
or  by  the  absence  of  them,  you  will  be  judged  at  the  Last 
Day.  "Whilst  we  have  time  let  us  do  good  unto  all  men," 
exhorts  Saint  Paul.  "The  night  cometh  when  no  man 
can  work,"  is  the  warning  of  Christ;  and  in  His  sublime 
representation  of  the  Day  of  Judgment  (St.  Matt,  xxv : 
31-46),  the  eternal  rewards  and  punishments  then  de 
creed  are  based  entirely  upon  the  performance  of  good 
works.  Not  that  we  are  to  be  saved  by  good  works :  all 
the  virtues  of  all  the  saints  in  and  out  of  heaven  could 
never  save  the  greatest  saint  that  ever  lived;  but  good 
works  are  the  evidence  of  that  faith  by  which  the  right 
eousness  of  Christ  is  appropriated  to  our  justification. 
And  what  other  evidence  could  there  be  but  works  ? 

Strive  to  save  your  fellow-creatures  from  temporal 
and  eternal  ruin;  and  never  consider  any  one  as  beyond 
hope.  That  you  may  be  encouraged  to  such  good  deeds, 
I  now  proceed  to  tell  you  what  I  know  to  be 

TRUE   STORY. 

One  afternoon,  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  many 
37ears  ago,  a  plasterer  stepped  into  the  office  of  a  gen 
tleman  who  was  a  stranger  to  him,  and  asked  permission 
to  leave  the  tools  of  his  trade  until  he  could  call  for 
them,  explaining,  "I  have  my  proud  clothes  on  (he 
had  probably  just  arrived  in  the  city  by  the  steamboat), 
and  do  not  care  to  carry  the  tools  in  the  street."  Per 
mission  was  granted,  and  the  plasterer's  new  acquaint 
ance,  perceiving  that  the  latter  had  been  drinking,  be- 


A    TRUE    STORY.  41 

stowed  upon  him  some  earnest  words  of  exhortation  and 
remonstrance.  Months  afterwards,  the  plasterer,  with 
every  evidence  of  respectability  and  prosperity  about 
him,  returned  to  the  office,  and  after  a  cordial  greeting 
to  the  occupant,  asked: 

"Do  you  remember  me,  sir?" 

"I   do  not." 

"Well,  sir,  one  day  I  stopped  in  here  when  I  had 
been  drinking,  and  what  you  said  to  me  was  the  means 
of  saving  me." 

"  Come  in  and  tell  me  the  whole  story." 

"I  was  brought  up,"  said  he,  "in  the  grocery  store 

of  M and  B ,  and  when  I  came  of  age  I  had 

$2500,  and  started  in  the  plastering  trade.  I  did  well 
and  made  money,  but  I  got  to  drinking,  and  became 
so  reduced  that  I  have  known  my  wife  to  get  up  in  the 
night  to  warm  a  little  water  to  keep  the  child  alive  till 
morning.  At  last  my  wife  went  back  to  her  father's; 
and  I  used  to  drink  all  day,  and  at  night  creep  into  a 
condemned  car  on  Broad  street  to  sleep.  I  used  to  go 
from  one  tavern  to  another.  I  was  ashamed  to  drink  all 
I  wanted  at  one  tavern.  I  would  take  —  drinks  at  'The 

Star,'  so  many  at ,  so  many  at :  fifty-five  to 

sixty  drinks  a  day.  I  concluded  to  kill  myself;  so  I 
went  to  an  apothecary's  and  bought  some  laudanum.  I 
drank  it,  and  lay  down  to  die.  It  was  too  large  a  dose. 
I  threw  it  off;  and  I  thought,  perhaps  God  has  saved  me 
for  some  good  purpose.  The  day  you  spoke  to  me  I  had 
taken  fifty-five  'smallers.'  I  didn't  like  your  speaking 
to  me.  I  thought,  'that  young  man  had  better  mind 
his  own  business.'  The  next  morning  I  called  for 
liquor;  but  when  it  was  before  me  I  remembered  what 
you  said  to  me — to  determine  not  to  drink.  I  paid  for 
the  liquor,  but  I  did  not  touch  it:  and  I  have  never 


42  A    TRUE    STORY. 

tasted  a  drop  since.  I  joined  'The  Washingtonians,' 
and  became  a  temperance  lecturer.  I  have  got  between 
three  and  four  hundred  to  sign,  the  pledge.  When  I 
have  a  job  of  plastering  I  write  to  the  temperance  men 
to  get  up  a  meeting,  and  I  speak.  We  had  meetings 
in  Trenton,  New  Jersey,  and  an  old  tavern-keeper  ap 
pealed  to  me  not  to  have  meetings  there.  'For,'  says 
he,  'I  am  an  old  man,  and  if  the  people  stop  drinking, 
what  can  I  do?'  I  asked  him  how  many  years  he  had 
kept  tavern  in  Trenton;  he  told  me.  'Well,'  I  replied, 
'you  go  around  collecting  all  the  rags  you  have  made  in 
this  town,  and  you  will  have  enough  to  set  up  a  paper 
factory.'  I  used  to  be  so  fond  of  drink  that  if  I  had 
stood  on  one  side  of  hell,  and  there  had  been  a  glass  of 
rum  on  the  other  side  I  would  have  jumped  for  it.  If 
you  had  said  the  day  I  saw  you,  'There's  no  use  in 
talking  to  him;  he  has  been  drinking,'  by  this  time  I 
would  have  filled  a  drunkard's  grave.  Now  my  wife  has 
come  back  to  me;  .we  have  got  in  our  coal  and  flour  for 
the  winter,  and  you  must  come  up  and  see  us." 

The  gentleman  did  go,  and  passed  a  pleasant  time 
with  the  reformed  drunkard  and  his  wife. 

Doubtless  there  are  many  such  cases  as  this;  and  if 
you,  my  readers,  do  your  duty,  there  may  be  many 
more.  When  you  are  hesitating  whether  you  shall  or 
shall  not  make  an  effort  for  the  benefit  of  your  race,  do 
it — and  a  good  deed  is  done  forever.  And  pray  that 
your  good  deeds  may  have  the  blessing  of  Him  who 
went  about  doing  good. 


A    STRANGE    EXPERIENCE  43 


A  STBANGE  EXPERIENCE. 

BY  "HART  BARNARD"  (BENTLEY). 

SOME  few  years  since,  in  making  the  tour  of  the 
Southern  States,  I  had  occasion  to  take  the  five  o'clock 
express  train  from  a  country  town  to  a  certain  city  in 
Florida.  It  was  a  gloomy,  miserable  evening,  and  I  was 
only  too  pleased  to  leave  the  muddy  little  village  where 
I  had  been  detained  for  two  days,  and  enter  the  com 
fortable  cars  with  the  prospect  of  the  luxuries  of  a  city 
before  me,  even  though  I  were  obliged  to  put  up  with 
the  dreary  loneliness  of  a  strange  hotel. 

The  train  was  very  crowded,  and  I  passed  through 
several  cars  before  finding  a  single  vacant  seat.  At 
length,  however,  I  discovered  one  just  under  a  lamp 
which  was  lighted,  for  the  clouds  and  rising  fog  had 
closed  in  the  evening  prematurely. 

As  I  comfortably  ensconced  myself,  I  noticed  that  my 
companion  was  a  gentleman  of  middle  age,  of  rather 
prepossessing  appearance,  with  reddish  hair  and  full 
beard,  and  dressed  with  all  that  recherche  which  at  once 
indicated  that  he  belonged  to  the  upper  or  at  least  to 
the  wealthy  class.  I  saw  at  a  glance  that  he  was  a  for 
eigner,  and  undoubtedly  English.  Nor  was  I  mistaken 
in  my  conjecture,  for,  after  the  lapse  of  a  moment  or 
two,  the  stranger  turned  and  addressed  me  with  the 
purest  British  accent.  "You  are  very  unfortunate,  sir," 
he  said  to  me,  with  a  winning  smile.  "I  am  not  aware 
of  the  fact,"  I  replied,  looking  at  him  in  some  surprise; 
"how  so,  pray?" 

"It  is  evident  that  you  are  a  stranger  in  the  South, 
and  are  going  to  see  our  city  for  the  first  time  this  even 
ing  !"  "You  are  quite  right,  sir,"  I  answered;  "but 


44  A    STftANGE    EXPERIENCE. 

for  all  that,  I  can'fc  quite  understand  in  what  I  am  un 
fortunate."  "Merely  because  it  is  sucli  a  dismal  night, 
and  our  town  in  a  rain  and  fog  is  simply  detestable  ! " 

I  answered  the  gentleman  that  I  had  traveled  suffi 
ciently  to  be  able  to  make  allowances  for  first  impres 
sions;  and  thus  we  fell  into  a  lively,  interesting  chat, 
while  the  train  flew  on  over  the  gloomy,  misty  country, 
at  a  break-neck  speed. 

After  an  hour  or  so  had  elapsed,  the  gentleman  drew 
a  card-case  from  his  pocket,  and  presented  me  with  a 
card,  upon  which  was  engraved  the  name  "  Henry 
Archibald  Daltou,"  while  down  in  the  right-hand  corner 
was  the  address,  "Roselands."  Taking  the  hint,  I  im 
mediately  gave  him  my  card. 

"Now,"  observed  Mr.  Dalton,  "we  shall  be  able  to 
converse  more  freely;  of  all  things  in  the  world,  I  dis 
like  to  be  forever  calling  a  man  sir,  sir,  sir." 

I  found  Mr.  Dalton  so  very  genial  and  agreeable  that 
I  made  bold  to  inquire  what  "Roselands"  meant.  "Oh, 
Roselands  is  my  country-seat,  eight  miles  out  of  the 
city  which  is  to  be  our  destination  to-night,"  he  replied; 
"it  is  a  gloomy  old  nest,  and  I  never  feel  quite  like 
inviting  friends  there,  for  several  reasons.  You  see,  my 
life  has  been  a  checkered  one,  and  now  just  as  I  am  be 
ginning  to  be  at  peace  with  all  the  world,  my  sins  and 
short-comings  seem  to  be  visited  upon  my  head;  so  I 
have  retired  to  Eoselands  and  have  buried  my  miseries 
there  ! "  H^re  he  laughed  so  heartily  that  I  felt  con 
vinced  such  a  good,  easy-going  soul  could  have  known 
but  few  of  the  trials  of  life;  and  as  for  "sins"  and 
"  miseries,"  why,  they  must  be  as  foreign  to  such  a  na 
ture  as  arson  and  larceny  to  a  baby. 

Thus  we  journeyed  on,  and  gradually  fell  into  silence. 
Presently  I  looked  at  my  watch,  and  discovered  that  it 


A    STRANGE    EXPERIENCE.  45 

was  half-past  six,  and  at  seven  we  were  due  in  town. 
Mr.  Dal  ton  bad  fallen  into  a  comfortable  doze,  and  I 
was  just  losing  myself  when  the  shriek  of  the  whistle 
brought  me  to  my  feet,  and  almost  instantly  there  suc 
ceeded  a  terrific  crash  which  threw  us  all  out  of  our 
seats,  and  raised  a  scream  of  fright  arid  dismay  among 
the  passengers.  The  fact  was,  we  had  come  suddenly 
into  collision  with  a  freight-train,  and  our  engine  had 
been  reduced  to  a  complete  wreck.  In  the  midst  of  the 
confusion,  I  was  about  to  leave  the  car  to  ascertain  the 
extent  of  the  damage  done  to  life  and  rolling-stock, 
when  I  was  arrested  by  a  low  groan  from  my  companion. 
"Are  you  hurt,  Mr.  Dalton?"!  inquired  anxiously. 
"I  fear  my  ankle  is  dislocated,"  he  said  faintly.  I  did 
what  I  could  to  render  him  comfortable,  but  to  my  sur 
prise  I  found  him  strangely,  almost  childishly,  nervous. 

"My  God,"  he  moaned  to  himself,  " what  if  I  had 
been  killed !  all  the  prayers  in  creation  would  not  have 
made  me  lie  easy  in  my  grave." 

I  began  to  think  that  the  man  really  did  have  some 
thing  011  his  conscience,  and  consequently  I  became 
curiously  interested  in  him. 

"There  is  no  help  for  it,'"  he  said  to  me  presently, 
"you  must  go  to  Roselands  with  me  to-night;  I  dare 
not  drive  all  that  way  alone,  suffering  as  I  am ! — You 
won't  object,  will  you?"  he  asked  earnestly.  Eeady  for 
any  adventure,  I  assured  him  that  I  was  at  his  service. 

After  a  delay  of  two  hours,  we  arrived  in  the  city, 
and  with  the  aid  of  the  conductor  I  assisted  Mr.  Dalton 
out  of  the  cars  and  to  a  certain  door  in  the  station, 
which  he  indicated.  There  we  found  a  carriage  in  wait 
ing,  into  which  we  helped  the  injured  gentleman.  As  I 
was  about  to  enter  also,  I  noticed  that  the  coachman 
looked  at  me  with  a  singular  expression  and  would  have 


46  A    STRANGE    EXPERIENCE. 

closed  the  carriage  door  in  my  face  Lad  I  not  exclaimed: 
"  Pardon  me,  I  am  going  too,"  and  stepped  in  and 
taken  my  seat.  Through  the  brilliantly  lighted  streets 
we  whirled,  and  were  soon  out  again  in  the  dark,  misty 
country.  Mr.  Dalton  was  evidently  suffering  severely, 
and  consequently  said  but  little;  therefore  I  had  ample 
opportunity  to  congratulate  myself  upon  the  prospect 
of  an  adventure,  as  we  rode  along.  After  an  hour  or 
more,  the  speed  slackened  and  we  passed  between  two 
massive  stone  gate-posts.  Thereupon  Mr.  Dalton  broke 
the  silence,  "You  will  meet  my  bride  this  evening," 
he  said;  "she,  at  least,  can  entertain  you,  as  I  am  ut 
terly  unfit  to  play  the  host."  With  that  we  drew  up 
before  the  lighted  entrance  of  a  large  mansion,  such  as 
are  still  to  be  met  with  in  the  South;  and  immediately 
the  carriage  door  was  thrown  open  by  the  loveliest 
angel  of  a  woman  that  I  ever  beheld. 

"Why  Henry!  what ,"  she  began  to  exclaim,  but 

stopped  short  at  sight  of  me. 

"Miriam,"  gasped  Mr.  Dalton,  "this  is  my  friend 
Mr.  Bentley.  Now  you  must  both  help  me  up  the  steps, 
for  I  have  sprained  my  ankle."  With  his  fair,  young 
wife  on  one  side  and  me  on  the  other,  Henry  Dalton 
reached  the  richly-furnished  parlors  and  sank  exhausted 
upon  a  sofa.  I  soon  found  that  the  little  lady  would  per 
mit  no  one  but  herself  to  attend  to  her  husband's  needs; 
and  in  less  than  an  hour  she  had  rendered  him  so  com 
fortable  that  ho  had  dropped  off  into  an  agreeable 
slumber. 

Then  we  went  out  to  tea  together.  Though  I  had 
been  ravenously  hungry,  I  found  myself  so  fascinated  by 
Mrs.  Dalton  that  I  could  scarcely  eat  at  all.  With  all 
the  enthusiasm  of  a  child  she  told  me  of  her  courtship, 
of  her  marriage  in  London,  and  of  her  journey  to  Amer 
ica. 


A    STRANGE    EXPERIENCE  47 

"And  how  long  have  you  been  here?"  I  asked. 
"Four  months!"  she  replied,  "but  it  seems  an  eter 
nity,  for  there  are  certain  things  which  render  Bose- 
lauds  a  very  sad  place."  Four  months  only  !  Why, 
Mr.  Dal  ton  had  given  the  impression  that  he  had  lived 
here  the  greater  part  of  his  life!  And  was  this  beauti 
ful  creature  before  me  the  "misery"  he  had  buried  at 
Boselands  ?  But  I  held  my  peace,  for  I  never  like  to 
read  the  last  page  of  a  novel  first. 

It  was  late  when  we  retired  that  night,  and  finding 
myself  particularly  at  ease,  I  was  regaling  myself  with  a 
cigar  and  a  drowsy  resume'  of  the  day's  proceedings, 
when  a  light  shone  under  a  door  in  my  room,  which  I 
had  scarcely  noticed.  Hardly  was  I  aware  of  the  fact 
when  the  door  was  cautiously  opened,  and  there  entered 
a  tall,  stately  man,  attired  in  black,  and  carrying  a 
lighted  caudle.  Considerably  surprised  and  not  a  little 
startled  by  this  sudden  apparition  in  the  solitude  of  my 
chamber,  I  sprang  to  my  feet  and  attempted  an  awkward 
bow.  Ere  I  had  time  to  frame  a  word,  the  stranger 
raised  his  hand  in  token  of  silence,  and  said  in  a  swift 
under-tone,  "This  is  no  time  for  mock-civility,  for  I  am 
desperate  !  You  are  the  first  person  who  has  ever  en 
tered  this  detestable  place,  beside  my  keepers,  since  I 
was  imprisoned  here  !  It  is  given  out  that  I  am  a  ma 
niac;  indeed  I  should  be  one  were  I  to  remain  here 
another  month!  But  at  last  I  have  the  means  of  escape, 
provided  I  have  assistance.  Heaven  certainly  has  sent 
you  to  me!"  Before  I  could  digest  this  startling  an 
nouncement  and  find  words  to  reply,  he  was  speaking 
again.  "I  have  secured  a  way  to  leave  my  room  to 
morrow,  and  if  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  you  can  be 
113 an  enough  to  rise  and  assist  an  outraged  fellow-man, 
Heaven  will  bless  you  ! " 


48  A    STRANGE    EXPERIENCE. 

"But  who  are  you  ? "  I  faltered. 

"I  am  Henry  Archibald  Dalton's  elder  brother.  You 
will  understand  that  wretch's  unnatural  crime  when  I 
tell  you  that  in  order  to  gain  possession  of  the  riches  of 
a  wealthy  family,  which,  by  the  British  law  of  primo 
geniture,  should  be  mine,  he  has  seen  fit  to  drag  me  to 
this  country  as  a  driveling  maniac.  He  has  not  the 
courage  to  murder  me,  but  he  has  the  cunning  to  keep 
me  in  this  helpless  condition  !" 

Of  course,  I  said  that  I  should  be  only  too  happy  to 
be  of  assistance. 

"Very  well,"  he  replied  nervously,  " I  will  trust  you 
to  have  Henry  Dalton  and  his  wife  in  the  dining-room, 
while  I  attempt  my  escape.  Should  I  fail,  you  will  pro 
duce  this  paper  which  I  now  place  in  your  hands,  and 
which  is  a  spurious  warrant  for  his  arrest.  For  the 
time  being  you  will  have  to  play  the  part  of  a  supposed 
detective.  I  depend  upon  you;  I  have  your  promise  of 
assistance." 

He  handed  me  the  paper,  and  was  about  to  leave  the 
room,  when  I  detained  him  with  the  question,  "Is  his 
wife  an  accomplice  in  his  crime?" 

"No!  she  is  as  innocent  as  a  child!" 

"Thank  God!" 

With  that  he  retired,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

To  say  that  I  slept  that  night,  would  be  a  very  great 
stretch  of  the  imagination.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  I  re 
turned  thanks  when  the  first  gray  streaks  of  dawn  illu 
mined  the  eastern  sky;  and  at  a  most  unconscionable 
hour,  I  was  up  and  dressed.  Eight  o'clock  sounded; 
then,  nine!  And  all  the  time  I  was  pacing  up  and  down 
the  parlors  in  a  frantic  state  of  excitement.  Just  as  the 
half-hour  rang,  however,  there  were  footsteps  in  the 
hall,  and  Henry  Dalton  entered,  leaning  upon  the  arm 
of  his  young  wife.  If  Miriam  Dalton  had  been  angelic 


A    STRANGE    EXPERIENCE.  49 

by  lamp-light,  she  was  simply  seraphic  in  the  rays  of 
the  morning  sun.  However,  I  scarcely  stopped  to  note 
all  this,  but  exclaimed  abruptly: 

"My  dear  Mr.  Dal  ton,  I  suppose  it  is  due  to  your 
country  air,  but  I  am  fiercely  hungry." 

"Come  right  into  the  dining-room,  my  friend,"  he 
replied  gaily;  "breakfast  must  be  on  the  table  already; 
and  pray,  pardon  us,  for  we  are  very  late." 

We  went  to  the  dining-room,  but  in  spite  of  my 
protestations,  I  never  touched  a  morsel,  for  we  were  no 
sooner  seated  than  the  clock  struck — ten !  My  misery 
was  just  beginning  to  attract  the  attention  of  my  host, 
when  a  figure  glided  down  the  stair-case  in  full  view  of 
Mrs.  Dalton  and  myself. 

"Good  heavens,  Henry,"  gasped  the  little  lady  in 
terror,  "there  goes  your  poor  brother!" 

"What!"  shrieked  Dalton,  struggling  to  rise.  The 
next  moment,  the  tall  figure  of  the  man  I  had  seen  on 
the  preceding  night,  stood  upon  the  threshold  of  the 
dining-room. 

"Yes,  Henry  Dalton,"  he  said  calmly,  "it  is  I,  your 
brother,  free!" 

The  guilty  wretch  started  to  his  feet,  sprang  forward, 
and  halted  as  though  petrified  with  horror. 

"Detective,  do  your  duty,"  cried  the  elder  Dalton; 
"  produce  your  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  that  criminal!" 
Mechanically  I  obeyed,  drew  the  spurious  paper  from 
my  breast,  and  held  it  up  before  Henry  Dalton.  With 
a  smothered  cry  he  dashed  at  me,  gazed  an  instant  at 
the  warrant,  and  then  fell  senseless  at  my  feet.  In 
voluntarily  I  glanced  at  the  young  bride,  and  found  her 
sitting  there,  griping  the  arms  of  her  chair,  as  though 
paralyzed.  Presently  she  rose,  and  faltered  faintly, 
"  Is  this  true  ?" 
4 


50  GONE    BEFOBE. 

"Look  at  me,  and  doubt  it  if  you  can!"  was  the  sol 
emn  reply  from  the  doorway. 

I  caught  the  delicate  form  as  it  wavered  and  fell,  and 
bore  it  away  to  the  parlors. 


Years  have  elapsed  since  that  terrible  event,  and  the 
beautiful  Miriam  Dalton  is  now  Miriam  Bentley,  and 
the  crown  of  my  life. 

Henry  Dalton  never  rose  from  the  spot  upon  which 
he  fell  stricken  down  by  a  guilty  conscience. 

James  Dalton  returned  to  England,  and  is  now  in  the 
peaceful  possession  of  his  rightful  property,  and  the 
idol  of  his  tenantry. 

Quite  recently,  my  wife  and  I  visited  Florida,  and 
impelled  by  curiosity,  drove  out  to  Boselands.  To  our 
surprise  we  found  the  place  transformed  into  a  convent 
of  independent  nuns,  under  the  direction  of  one  Sister 
Anna  Dalton,  a  sister  of  the  unfortunate  brothers.  We 
were  kindly  received,  though  not  recognized;  and  in 
the  cool  shade  of  the  garden  the  pale  Sister  of  Charity 
narrated  the  story  of  her  sad  possession  of  "  Boselands." 


GONE  BEFOBE. 

BY  SAMUEL  S.  HALL  ("BUCKSKIN  SAM"). 

CAN  it  be  she's  left  us,  for  that  unknown  shore? 
Shall  we  never  see  her,  never,  never  more? 
Yes!  she's  with  the  angels,  clothed  in  spotless  white; 
One  of  Christ's  own  children,  standing  at  his  right. 

No  more  we  see  our  darling,  coming  up  the  lane, 
No  more  upon  the  earth  shall  we  see  her  again; 
No  more  the  greeting  that  she  ever  gave  to  all, 
No  more  her  merry  laugh  on  earthly  ears  shall  fall. 


A    SKETCH    FROM    HUMBLE    LIFE.  51 

A  SKETCH  FKOM  HUMBLE  LIFE. 

BY  NOAH  BROOKS. 

IT  was  my  habit  of  a  morning,  when  going  from  my 
lodgings  to  my  club,  to  pass  through  the  little  park 
of  Union  Square.  The  plashing  fountain,  the  little  chil 
dren  playing  in  the  sunshine,  the  frisky  sparrows  twit 
tering  and  giggling  about  the  water-basins,  and  the 
vagrant  boot-blacks  racing  among  the  benches,  com 
bined  to  make  a  pleasant  picture  to  one  who  had  a  few 
minutes  of  absolute  leisure  and  no  immediate  care  upon 
his  mind.  Among  the  boot-blacking  urchins,  I  had 
observed  a  picturesque-looking  Italian  boy,  chiefly  no 
ticeable  for  his  handsome  brown  face  and  a  lock  of  dark 
hair  which  streamed  from  a  hole  in  the  top  of  his  bat 
tered,  peaked,  felt  hat.  As  it  was  my  wont  to  have  my 
boots  polished  while  on  the  way  through  the  square,  the 
entire  flock  of  boys  usually  dashed  at  me  as  soon  as  they 
beheld  me,  very  much  as  a  cloud  of  sparrows  rush  down 
upon  a  handful  of  crumbs  scattered  on  the  turf.  The 
swarthy  Italian,  being  the  most  nimble,  usually  secured 
the  coveted  job,  and  he  worked  at  it  with  a  thorough 
conscientiousness  which  deserved  all  praise.  Then,  too, 
he  received  his  dime  with  such  a  hearty  thankfulness 
that  he  won  my  regard.  So,  one  day,  he  said, ' 'Mistoo, 
I  blacken  your  boots  to-day,  yesterday  and  day  before." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "what  of  it?'1 

One  of  the  crowd  of  fellow- craftsmen  who  stood  by 
critically  watching  the  polishing  of  my  boots,  interposed 
with,  "Say,  mister,  he  wants  a  stiddy  job.  Don't  you 
give  it  to  him,  he's  a  dirty  Eyetalian." 

"  Oh,  you  shet  up.  What  you  know  about  it?"  said 
the  little  foreigner.  Then,  looking  up  to  me,  he  said, 


52  A    SKETCH    FKOM    HUMBLE    LIFE. 

"Don't  you  mind-a  those  boys,  Mistoo,  they  no  good. 
You  be  here  to-morrow  ?  " 

So  it  became  a  tacit  understanding  between  us  that 
he  was  to  have  the  preference  as  my  regular  boot-black. 
Every  morning  thereafter,  he  lay  in  wait  for  me,  and, 
long  before  I  entered  the  square  he  would  rush  to  inter 
cept  me  with  his  cheery  "Mornin,  Mistoo,"  and  then 
kneel  at  my  feet  with  his  bit  of  carpet.  If  I  missed 
him  and  resigned  myself  to  the  offices  of  a  rival  boot 
black,  he  never  failed  to  appear  before  the  work  was 
done,  and  stand  sullenly  by,  black  with  jealousy  and 
disappointment,  dropping  remarks  upon  the  work  in  his 
comical  Italian-English.  At  other  times  during  the  day, 
when  I  passed  that  way,  the  boy  was  racing  about  in 
pursuit  of  his  customers,  his  plume  of  hair  waving  from 
the  crown  of  his  hat,  and  seductively  crying  "Shine?" 

When  he  saw  me  coming  from  afar,  his  handsome 
face  broke  into  smiles  and  he  gradually  introduced  into 
his  salutation  "  Glad  to  see-a  you.  How's  you  health?" 
A  pair  of  old  thick  gloves  which  I  bestowed  upon  him, 
when  the  wintry  winds  began  to  blow,  quite  won  the 
poor  foreigner's  heart;  and  one  morning,  while  breath 
ing  on  the  polished  leather  to  heighten  the  effect  of  his 
elaborate  rubbing,  he  suddenly  lifted  his  face,  and  roll 
ing  his  dark  eyes  said: 

"Mistoo,  I  kees-a  you  foot !" 

"Why  do  you  kiss  my  foot,  Louis?"!  asked  in  aston 
ishment. 

"Because  I  lofe  you  too  much,"  was  the  reply,  with  a 
strong  accent  on  the  "too."  Louis'  English  did  not 
include  a  "very,"  but  his  comparative  was  "too."  It 
was  never  very  cold,  or  very  hot,  with  him,  but  "too 
hot"  or  "too  cold."  Of  course,  after  that  demonstra 
tion  of  affection,  we  became  intimate  friends. 


A    SKETCH    FROM    HUMBLE    LIFE.  53 

During  that  winter,  Louis  so  ingratiated  himself  into 
the  good  will  of  a  shop-keeper  on  a  corner  near  the 
Square,  that  he  secured  the  exclusive  right  to  hang 
around  his  doorway,  Avhich  had  a  southern  exposure  and 
was  near  a  busy  thoroughfare.  Basking  in  the  wintry 
sunshine,  the  little  foreigner  crouched  in  his  snug  cor 
ner,  but  with  his  eyes  ever  watchful  of  the  by-passers. 
When  a  promising  subject  approached,  he  darted  out 
like  a  fat  spider  from  his  retreat,  and  not  a  few  persons 
yielded  to  his  bright  look  of  appeal.  In  this  way  he 
secured  several  regular  customers,  though  Louis  could 
never  manage  so  long  a  word.  He  always  referred  to 
each  as  "one  cust."  In  this  manner,  he  docked  nearly 
every  English  word  of  its  fair  proportions.  For  exam 
ple,  on  beginning  his  usual  task  on  my  boots,  one  morn 
ing,  his  quick  eye  detected  a  pair  of  trousers  which  he 
had  not  seen  before. 

"New  trows?"  he  asked,  as  he  caressingly  passed  his 
hands  over  the  soft  cloth.  And  when  I  told  him  that 
they  were  new,  he  demanded,  "How  much  cost?"  I 
told  him,  and  he  sank  back  upon  his  haunches,  con 
templating  the  garments  with  mingled  astonishment 
and  admiration,  murmuring,  "Too  much  cost!  Too 
much  cost!"  The  sum  paid  for  a  pair  of  trousers  seemed 
to  be  too  magnificent  for  his  comprehension. 

Louis  had  longings  for  a  higher  plane  of  activity. 
One  day  he  was  so  silent  and  preoccupied  while  black 
ing  my  shoes,  that  I  ventured  to  ask  him  what  was  the 
matter.  Was  he  sick? 

"No,  Mistoo,"  he  said,  raising  himself  with  an  effort. 
"Mea-think." 

"And  what  are  you  thinking  about,  mio figlio?" 

"Mistoo,  suppose  I  can  get  a  job  to  se-lip  in  the 
street  ?  " 


54  A    SKETCH    FKOM    HUMBLE    LIFE. 

"Sleep  in  the  street,  my  poor  boy!  Why  should  you 
sleep  in  the  street  ?  " 

"No,  no,  not  that!  Se-lip  in  the  street  with  a 
broom." 

By  some  mysterious  rule  in  New  York  politics,  most 
of  the  street-sweeping  of  the  city  is  given  over  to  the 
Italian  voters.  The  Latin  race,  for  reasons  not  appa 
rent,  is  not  equal  to  paving,  laying  of  water-pipes,  or 
general  public  contract-work  of  the  more  refined  variety. 
Louis  could  not  be  made  to  understand  that  he  must  be 
twenty-one  years  of  age  before  he  could  hope  for  work 
under  a  paternal  city  government  which  cares  only  for 
the  dear  people  who  have  votes.  To  this  child  of  an 
effete  European  despotism,  the  ballot  was  a  mystery  un 
fathomable. 

Giving  up  his  ambition  to  sweep  in  the  streets,  Louis 
addressed  himself  to  a  more  permanent  establishment 
in  business.  He  was  sure  that  he  was  not  respectable 
enough  in  his  commercial  appearance.  "One  cust" 
had  given  him  a  hat,  another  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  a 
third  had  adorned  him  with  a  cast-off  coat,  so  that  he 
looked  like  a  thriving  boot-black.  Pondering  the 
matter,  he  suddenly  asked  me,  one  day,  "Mistoo, 
suppose  you  buy  me  one  chair?" 

"What  do  you  want  a  chair  for,  Louis?" 

"For  cust.  You  see  the  cust  he  come  to  blacken  he 
boot;  he  no  find-a  no  chair;  he  lazy  to  stand,  so  he  go 
away  and  I  lose  cust." 

This  seemed  reasonable  enough.  The  boy  had  found 
a  place  where  a  second-hand  wooden  chair  could  be 
bought  for  fifty  cents.  But  no  amount  of  persuasion 
would  induce  him  to  take  the  money  and  buy  the  chair. 
He  insisted  that  he  could  not  get  it  by  himself.  I  must 
go  with  him  and  pay  the  money.  Whether  he  distrusted 


A    SKETCH    FBOM    HUMBLE    LIFE.  55 

the  dealer,  or  wanted  me  to  be  sure  that  the  money  was 
honestly  expended,  I  could  not  guess.  At  any  rate,  guided 
by  my  humble  friend,  I  went  over  to  a  musty,  dusty 
shop  in  Third  Avenue,  bought  and  paid  for  the  coveted 
chair,  which  Louis  carried  off  on  his  head  with  the  hap 
py  pride  of  proprietorship.  It  was  agreed  between  us 
that  Louis  should  repay  me  by  installments  at  long  in 
tervals.  His  room-rent  and  board  cost  him  two  dollars 
a  week.  He  was  fortunate  when  he  made  fifty  cents  a 
day.  On  rainy  days  he  made  nothing  at  all,  unless  it 
came  off  fine  before  dark.  Many  people,  perhaps  a 
majority,  paid  only  five  cents  for  a  "  shine,"  and  some, 
I  blush  to  say,  were  mean  enough  to  go  away  without 
paying  anything.  Besides,  Louis  had  his  "  dead-head 
list,"  strange  to  say.  One  day,  seeing  the  big  police 
man  whose  "beat"  included  Louis'  corner,  go  away 
without  paying  for  the  polish  on  his  immense  shoes,  I 
asked  Louis,  with  some  indignation,  why  he  let  the  man 
impose  upon  him.  "  Oh,  he's  a  good  cop,"  said  Louis, 
beaming  all  over  with  admiration  for  the  policeman. 

"  He  is  a  friend  of  yours,  then  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes;  one  day  there  came  along  one  what  you 
call  a  lofe,  eh?" 

'  'Loafer?" 

"  Yes  that-a  it — lofe.  He  hit-a  me  on  the  head  while 
I  was  shining  o'  the  cust.  Next  day,  and  he  strike-a 
the  hat  over  my  eye.  Next  day,  same  way,  and  he  grab 
my  box-ee.  Then  I  jump-a  up  and  grab  him  so;"  and 
here  the  boy  clutched  himself  by  the  throat  to  show 
how  it  was  done.  "Then  he  cry  to  the  cop  to  take-a 
me  off.  The  cop  he  come-a  and  say  to  the  boy,  '  I 
watch-a  you,  you  bad  boy.  Twice  before  you  bat  this-a 
boy.  Now  you  git,  or  I  take-a  you  in.'  So  the  boy  he 
run  off.  Oh,  he  good  cop;  I  like  him  ever  since." 


56  A    SKETCH    FKOM    HUMBLE    LIFE. 

And  Louis  fell  to  his  work  with  a  vivid  sense  of  being 
protected. 

One  morn  I  missed  him  on  the  'customed  chair. 
That  valuable  part  of  Louis's  establishment  had  not 
been  brought  up  from  the  cellar  where  the  boy  had  per 
mission  to  store  it  at  night.  Days  passed,  and  no  sign 
of  the  missing  youngster  appeared.  He  was  now  eigh 
teen  years  old,  and  big  enough  to  resist  any  of  the 
padrones  who  sometimes  kidnap  little  fellows  and  carry 
them  to  other  cities.  He  must  be  sick;  I  would  try 
and  find  his  lodgings. 

On  the  night  of  the  fourth  day  of  the  boy's  disap 
pearance,  tidings  of  him  reached  me  in  a  letter  sent 
through  the  mail.  It  was  brief,  and  ran  thus: 

"NEW  YORK,  Dec.  13,  187-. 
"Mr.  B . 

"  DEAR  SIR:  Louis,  of  Union  Square,  is  arrested,  and  now 
at  the  Tombs.  Come  and  see  nie  before  ten  o'clock. 

"Louis." 

This  was  surprising,  and  I  went  to  bed  with  many 
misgivings.  The  traditional  Italian  passionateness,  I 
thought,  had  broken  out  in  violence,  and  Louis  was 
probably  in  the  Tombs  on  charge  of  assault,  or  some 
thing  more  serious.  My  bell  rang  next  morning  while 
I  was  dressing;  and  I  found  in  the  hall  a  particularly 
unwholesome-looking  and  unsavory  old  man.  He  was 
a  messenger  from  the  Tombs,  and  bore  this  unique  and 
plaintive  epistle  from  the  captive: 

"My  DEAR,  DEAREST  MR.  BROOKEY: — You  will  probably 
remember  easily  the  young  Italian  who  used  so  joyfully  to 
blacken  your  boots  in  Union  Square  for  a  long  period.  I 
and  my  brother  were  arrested  for  assault,  and  are  now  in 
carcerated  here.  I  do  not  understand  a  word  of  the  Eng 
lish,  and  am  now  in  a  miserable  state,  owing  to  the 


A    SKETCH    FROM    HUMBLE    LIFE.  57 

miserable  surroundings.  You  are  the  only  one  I  can  ap 
peal  to  at  present,  and  knowing  your  kind  disposition,  I  am 
sure  you  will  befriend  me  in  my  present  state.  Please,  if 
possible,  call  before  11  o'clock.  I  am  now  so  desperate,  I 
send  a  special  messenger,  and  send  an  answer.  Hoping, 
kind  sir,  you  will  favorably  think  of  my  case,  and  relying 
on  your  humanity, 

"I  have  the  honor  to  remain  your  humble  servant. 

Louis. 

"  P.  S.  I  am  under  $400  bail,  or  six  months  on  the  Island, 
a  pleasant  prospect  for  a  poor  Italian.  On  you  only  I 
trust.  Revive  my  hopes/' 

This  letter  was  written,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  by  an 
Italian  hanger-on  about  the  prison,  who  acted  as  inter 
preter  iii  the  police  court.  But  the  wail  was  unques 
tionably  Louis'.  Bidding  the  messenger  tell  Louis  to 
be  of  good  cheer,  I  made  ready  to  follow  him;  for  it 
was  now  late  in  the  morning,  and  I  knew  that  the  police 
court  opened  early. 

I  need  not  stop  to  tell  how  I  found  myself  at  once  in 
the  toils  of  the  creatures  who  infest  the  city  prisons. 
It  was  a  most  serious  case,  they  said.  Nothing  could 
be  done  without  bribing  to  the  right  and  bribing  to  the 
left.  I  reflected.  Nobody  knew  this  boy  as  well  as  I 
did.  I  could  have  no  possible  reason  for  shielding  him 
from  justice.  The  authorities,  possibly,  knew  of  me; 
at  least,  they  could  find  out  what  manner  of  man  I  was. 
So  I  walked  boldly  into  the  office  of  the  committing 
magistrate,  sending  my  card  before  me.  The  magis 
trate,  a  huge-framed  man  with  a  benignant  face  and 
mild  blue  eyes,  explained  that  the  two  Italians  had 
been  arrested  for  an  assault  upon  one  Bridget  Lafferty, 
a  laundress,  who  lodged  in  the  tenement  house  where 
the  youug  men  had  their  sleeping-place.  There  had 


58  A   SKETCH     FROM    HUMBLE    LIFE. 

been  a  quarrel  about  a  watch  which  the  woman  claimed 
that  the  boys  had  given  her,  but  which  they  denied 
having  parted  with  except  as  a  loan.  In  the  struggle 
over  this  piece  of  property,  the  younger  boy  had  kicked 
in  the  door  of  Mrs.  Lafferty's  apartment,  and  the  twain 
had  seized  and  carried  away  the  watch.  I  expressed 
my  disbelief  of  the  woman's  story.  The  watch,  I  knew, 
was  a  cheap  Italian  affair,  but  an  heirloom,  and  attached 
to  it  was  a  short  chain,  or  chatelaine,  made  from  the 
hair  of  the  mother  and  sister  of  the  boys.  Was  it  likely 
that  the  poor  lad,  who  had  clung  to  this  little  bit  of 
finery  through  all  his  poverty,  would  give  it  to  a  stranger? 

"You  knew  these  boys,  then?"  asked  the  magistrate. 

I  explained  that  for  nearly  three  years  past,  I  had 
seen  the  younger  boy  every  day,  except  when  I  was  not 
in  the  city,  that  he  had  cleaned  my  boots  and  shoes  on 
the  street  and  at  my  lodgings,  and  that  in  various  ways 
I  had  learned  that  Louis  could  not  be  the  drunken  ruf 
fian  that  the  loquacious  Lafferty  made  him  out  to  be. 
Moreover,  if  bail  were  wanted,  it  should  be  furnished; 
but  the  boys  should  not  be  sent  to  consort  with  thieves 
and  dissolute  characters. 

"Make  out  the  discharge  of  these  lads," said  the  mag 
istrate  turning  to  the  clerk.  That  official,  who  had  been 
listening  to  the  conversation  with  manifest  interest, 
promptly  filled  up  the  required  blanks,  and,  directed  by 
the  magistrate,  he  descended  with  me  to  the  lower  re 
gions.  Certain  forms  being  complied  with,  an  officer 
disappeared  Avithin  a  grated  cage  in  the  rear  of  which 
was  a  door  leading  to  the  cells.  Presently  he  returned 
with  Louis  and  his  brother,  who,  as  soon  as  they  saw 
me,  clasped  their  hands  ecstatically,  and,  liberated  at 
last,  both  dropped  on  their  knees,  one  on  either  side, 
and  kissed  my  hands,  shedding  tears  and  relieving  their 
minds  in  very  choice  Italian. 


A    SKETCH    FROM    HUMBLE    LIFE.  59 

Dismayed  at  this  unexpected  scene,  I  hustled  the  boys 
out  of  the  prison  as  soon  as  possible,  and  postponed 
any  inquiries  until  we  were  in  the  street.  It  seems, 
from  Louis'  story,  that  they  had  lent  the  watch  to  Mrs. 
Lafferty  who  had  washed  some  clothes  for  them,  and 
who  begged  the  loan  of  it  as  she  wished  to  appear  well 
at  a  party,  given  by  Patsy  Doolan,  to  celebrate  her  com 
ing  of  age.  She  had  refused  to  give  it  up,  next  day, 
and  when  the  boys  took  it  away  by  force,  she  had  them 
arrested  on  charge  of  assault  and  intoxication.  On  her 
sole  testimony,  the  lads  were  sentenced  to  six  months 
in  the  House  of  Correction. 

But  where  was  the  watch  now?  Louis  produced  a 
greasy  card  on  the  back  of  which  were  some  meaning 
less  words.  This  was  a  receipt,  he  said,  from  a  lawyer 
who  had  agreed  to  defend  them.  They  had  no  money 
and  he  took  the  watch  as  security  for  payment  of  his 
fee.  On  the  face  of  the  card  was  the  printed  address  of 
one  of  the  small  lawyers,  or  "shysters,"  of  the  Tombs 
neighborhood.  Crossing  the  street,  we  entered  a  noi 
some  little  den,  lighted  only  by  its  street  door,  in  which 
was  a  small  window.  Its  furniture  was  a  deal  table, 
two  chairs,  four  or  five  battered  law  books,  a  diminutive 
cylinder  stove,  and  an  engraved  portrait  of  Peter  B. 
Sweeney.  A  freckle-faced  boy,  with  red  hair,  was  en 
gaged  in  balancing  a  poker  on  his  chin.  Removing  that 
implement  with  an  injured  air,  he  informed  us  that  Mr. 
Clinchem  was  busy  in  court.  Just  then  Mr.  Clinchem 
came  in,  very  much  astonished,  evidently,  to  see  his 
late  clients  at  large,  when  he  had  persuaded  himself 
that  they  were  safely  housed  on  Blackwell's  Island. 

"Oh,  I  congratulate  you,"  he  said,  "you  have  pow 
erful  friends,  I  see.  It  was  a  pretty  bad  case."  And 
he  showed  his  tobacco-stained  teeth,  in  a  ghastly  at 
tempt  at  a  smile. 


60  A    SKETCH    PEOM    HUMBLE    LIFE. 

"  You  have  a  watch  belonging  to  these  boys,  I  believe, 
Mr.  Clinchem,"  said  I. 

"He's  got  it  in  his  pocket,"  whispered  Louis  to  rne; 
'•'I  see  the  chain  on  his  vest." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  man,  "they  gave  me  this  as  se 
curity.  Not  worth  much,  you  see;  but  then  my  fee  is 
not  heavy." 

"Well,  Mr.  Clinchem,  I  will  pay  your  fee;  but  before 
we  go  any  further,  suppose  you  take  off  that  watch  and 
give  it  to  the  owner." 

The  fellow  scowled,  then  took  off  the  watch  and  gave 
it  to  Louis  without  a  word.  He  had  done  nothing 
whatever  for  the  culprits,  as  he  acknowledged,  except 
to  send  them  an  interpreter,  who  had  written  the  letters 
to  me.  This  trifling  service  was  paid  for,  and  we  got 
out  of  the  den  of  the  spider  as  soon  as  possible. 

When  we  were  once  more  in  the  street,  I  said:  "Don't 
you  two  boys  ever  come  within  sight  of  that  prison 
again  as  long  as  you  live." 

Louis  somehow  gained  the  impression  that  I  had  be 
come  bound  for  his  good  behavior  for  six  months.  He 
was  most  exemplary  in  his  conduct,  though  so  far  as  I 
could  see,  there  was  no  special  need  for  improvement 
in  that  particular.  He  appeared  somewhat  chastened 
in  his  manner,  and  evidently  regarded  his  incarceration 
in  the  Tombs  as  a  disgraceful  episode  to  which  no  ref 
erence  was  to  be  made.  Possibly  the  restraint  upon 
his  naturalness  which  this  sense  of  a  legal  burden 
caused  him  to  feel,  induced  him  to  take  a  strange  step. 
One  morning,  with  his  usual  suddenness,  he  accosted 
me  with  this  intelligence : 

"Mister,  I  am  going-a  Californ'." 

"Going  to  California!    How  are  you  going,  pray?" 

"Oh,   one  man,   he  friend  of  my  broth',  he  goiug-a 


A    SKETCH    FROM    HUMBLE    LIFE.  61 

Californ',  and  lie  take  me  and  two  or  three  other  fell'. 
He  pay  our  pass',  and  we  work  for  him  for  one  year. 
What-ayou  tink,  eh?" 

It  seemed  a  little  odd  that  a  boy  without  a  trade 
should  be  so  desirable  an  emigrant  to  California  that 
his  passage  should  be  paid  to  the  Golden  State,  and 
work  and  wages  there  guaranteed  him  for  a  year.  Bat 
Louis  was  firm  in  the  belief  that  "the  man"  was  a  good 
man.  His  brother  had  known  him  for  a  long  time  and 
had  assured  Louis  that  "it  was  all  right."  So  I  reluc 
tantly  approved  of  the  scheme.  If  he  only  got  out  to 
California  safely  he  was  no  worse  off  there  than  here, 
even  if  he  had  no  hold  upon  the  person  who  engaged  to 
employ  him.  I  could  furnish  him  with  recommendatory 
credentials  which  would  serve  him  in  case  of  great  need. 

So  I  found  the  boy  loitering  about  my  door  one  after 
noon,  waiting  to  say  good-bye.  I  gave  him  the  ad 
dresses  of  friends  in  San  Francisco  to  whom  he  might 
go  if  he  needed  help.  He  lingered  silently  about,  kissed 
my  hands  passionately,  cried  a  little,  and  then  rushed 
away  with  a  tearful  smile  on  his  face,  and  so  was  gone. 

An  Italian  and  a  stranger  sat  in  Louis'  chair  waiting 
for  customers.  A  change  of  my  location  took  me  from 
the  daily  round  which  included  Union  Square  in  my 
walk,  and  I  lost  all  interest  in  the  corner  where  I  was 
accustomed  to  look  for  Louis'  shining  morning  face.  I 
heard  nothing  from  him,  and  the  California  friends  to 
whom  I  had  written  knew  nothing  of  him. 

Six  months  passed,  and  one  day,  to  my  great  sur 
prise,  I  found  him  at  his  old  post,  looking  exactly  as  if 
he  had  never  left  it.  He  greeted  me  with  a  certain  re 
pressed  joy  which  was  curious  to  see.  When  I  asked 
him  where  he  had  come  from,  he  said,  "I  been-a  Cali 
forn'.  The  man  no  good." 


62  A    SKETCH    FROM    HUMBLE    LIFE. 

"But  Low  did  you  get  back,  Louis?" 

"I  work  ray  pass'  ou  the  stim  [steamer]  from  San 
Francisk  to  Panama.  In  Panama  I  stay  four  week; 
then  I  walk  over  to  Aspinwall  on  the  rail;  stay  there  two 
week,  and  work  my  pass'  to  New  York  on  the  other 
stim,  and  here  I  am." 

And  the  young  adventurer  fell  to  work  polishing  my 
shoes  as  if  he  had  returned  for  no  other  purpose.  I 
could  not  see  that  Louis  had  gained  the  slightest  knowl 
edge  of  anything  by  his  voyages.  The  only  acquisition 
which  he  brought  with  him  was  a  battered  Panama  hat 
and  a  new  form  of  salutation.  Thereafter  he  met  me 
with,  "How  you  git  along?"  of  a  morning,  with  a  curi 
ously  misplaced  emphasis  on  the  word  which  I  have 
italicised.  Whenever  I  questioned  him  about  his  trip 
he  cast  clown  his  eyes  and  scraped  the  pavement  with 
his  toes,  in  an  embarrassed  manner.  In  spite  of  his 
explicit  statement  of  his  stages  of  travel,  I  have  always 
been  haunted  by  a  vague  suspicion  that  he  never  went 
to  California  at  all.  But  whither  did  he  disappear  dur 
ing  that  half-year? 

Not  many  months  after  Louis'  return,  there  came  sad 
news  from  home.  His  mother  was  dead.  I  did  not  see 
the  boy  until  some  weeks  after  he  received  the  tidings. 
TVhen  I  met  him,  he  was  plunged  into  the  depths  of  woe. 
I  found  him  lying  curled  up  in  the  canny  corner  of  his 
haunt,  his  head  tied  up  with  a  handkerchief  across  his 
forehead,  and  he  was  moaning  like  a  wounded  animal. 
He  was  sick,  he  said,  and  he  wanted  to  go  home  to  his 
old  father.  A  young  compatriot,  who  was  acting  as 
Louis'  substitute  for  the  day,  looked  on  in  silent  sym 
pathy,  but  offered  no  consolation  to  the  stricken  youth. 

I  lifted  Louis  out  of  his  corner,  shook  him  together, 
examined  his  pulse  and  tongue,  which  showed  signs  of 


A    SKETCH    FROM    HUMBLE    LIFE.  63 

fever  and  biliousness,  and  then  took  him  to  a  kind- 
hearted  physician  near  by.  He  was  sent  home  with  a 
supply  of  medicine  and,  in  a  day  or  two,  reappeared  on 
his  stand  as  bright  and  gay  as  ever. 

But  the  desire  to  return  to  Italy  grew  upon  him.  This 
country  was  "no  good,"  he  said,  and  he  wanted  to  go 
back  before  the  snow  came  again.  To  add  to  his  anxiety, 
his  brother  took  ship  from  Boston  to  Havre,  trusting  to 
work  his  way  to  Italy.  Louis  was  desolated  when  he 
received  this  information,  and  soon  lost  all  his  cheerful 
ness  and  boyish  gayety.  He  talked  of  nothing,  when  I 
met  him,  but  of  going  home.  His  was  a  case  of  aggra 
vated  nostalgia.  Occasionally  he  regained  his  spirits, 
and  once  I  saw  him  performing  his  favorite  feat  of 
climbing  the  lamp-posts  along  the  square  to  turn  on  the 
gas,  just  in  advance  of  the  lamp-lighter,  with  whom  he 
had  long  maintained  friendly  relations. 

"This  country  no  good  for  poor  man,"  he  would  say. 
"Italy  no  good,  but  it's  better  than  this  country  for  me. 
Mistoo,  you  send  me  home;  I  work  all  my  life  for  you." 

Fortunately,  my  old  friend  Captain  Marlow,  about 
this  time,  was  making  ready  to  sail  for  Marseilles  on  his 
good  ship,  the  '  'Pole  Star. "  He  agreed  to  take  Louis  as  a 
green  hand,  allowing  him  to  work  his  passage.  Between 
us,  we  arranged  that  he  should  send  the  boy  to  Naples 
by  steamer,  paying  his  fare  to  that  city.  Louis  was 
stupefied  when  I  told  him  the  good  news.  He  could 
not  believe  it,  but  repeated,  "Shall  I  go  home,"  over 
and  over  again,  as  if  it  was  too  good  to  be  true. 

In  a  day  or  two  I  took  the  boy  on  board  of  the  ship 
lo  show  him  to  the  captain.  He  immediately  made  a 
minute  inspection  of  the  vessel,  examining  her  in  every 
part,  as  if  he  meditated  buying  her.  Then  he  returned 
to  me,  beaming  joy  and  satisfaction  at  every  pore.  It 


64  A    SKETCH    FKOM    HUMBLE    LIFE. 

was  impossible  for  him  to  keep  his  white  teeth  covered. 
An  intense  grin  prevented  him  from  closing  his  mouth. 
The  captain  knew  all  his  story,  was  interested  in  him, 
and  had  assured  him  that  he  should  see  Naples  before 
the  end  of  the  next  month.  The  boy's  cup  of  happiness 
was  full. 

It  was  a  bright  autumnal  morning  when  Louis  sailed. 
I  had  dined  late  on  board  the  * '  Pole  Star, "  with  my  friend 
the  captain,  and,  as  the  vessel  was  anchored  in  the 
stream,  had  slept  on  the  ship.  Just  after  breakfast, 
Louis  came  off  in  a  shore  boat,  rowed  by  some  of  his 
Italian  friends,  and  carrying  his  scanty  baggage  in  a 
canvas  bag.  The  captain  had  agreed  to  see  that  his 
needed  clothing  was  supplied  from  the  ship's  slop-chest, 
and  he  required  nothing  more.  His  silent  laugh  had 
become  a  fixed  feature  of  his  face,  and  he  moved  about 
the  deck  gingerly  and  observantly,  as  if  afraid  that  he 
might  break  some  of  the  wild  tangle  of  running  rigging 
around  him. 

A  tug  soon  came  alongside  to  tow  the  ship  down  the 
harbor.  All  was  ready  for  the  beginning  of  the 
voyage,  and  the  clangor  at  the  windlass  warned  us 
that  the  anchor  was  beginning  to  rise.  The  cap 
tain's  gig  was  ready  to  set  me  ashore,  and  I  took 
Louis'  hand  to  bid  him  good-bye.  The  boy's  grin 
faded  suddenly  away,  and  he  cried,  "Mistoo!  mio 
caro  carissimo  !  Let  me  kees  you  before  I  see  you  no 
more!"  He  kissed  me  on  my  whiskered  cheeks,  and 
then,  in  an  utter  abandonment  of  grief  and  affection, 
passionately  saluted  me  on  my  lips.  With  a  wild  howl, 
he  fled  into  the  forecastle  and  I  saw  him  no  more.  Go- 
iug  ashore,  the  Italian  boatmen  accompanied  us  to  the 
pier  steps,  ever  and  anon  casting  a  glance  of  respectful 
curiosity  at  Louis'  friend.  As  I  stepped  upon  the  pier 


KIN    AND    KING.  65 

and  turned  to  give  a  trifle  to  the  gig's  crew,  the  com 
patriots  of  Louis  deferentially  doffed  their  caps,  and 
then,  without  a  word,  rowed  away. 

From  Marseilles  I  learned  of  the  safe  arrival  of  the 
"Pole  Star"  and  all  on  board.  Louis  was  reported  back 
to  me  as  being  duly  embarked  for  Naples,  his  passage 
paid  and  coin  in  his  pocket.  Beyond  this,  no  word  from 
the  returned  exile  has  ever  reached  me.  Perhaps,  when 
the  ecstasy  of  being  at  home  again  shall  have  been 
mellowed  by  the  lapse  of  time,  he  may  find  a  way  to 
send  me  a  message.  He  is  absorbed  into  the  vast  sea 
of  humanity,  an  atom  in  the  waste. 


KIN  AND  KING. 

Br  ANTOINETTE  L.  BROWN  (BLACKWELL). 

IN  centuries  old,  when  Time,  re-born, 
Began  anew  with  the  Christmas  niorn, 
As  the  Bethlehem  Babe,  on  the  fragrant  hay, 
By  the  large-eyed  kine  in  the  manger  lay, 
A  look  half  human  and  half  divine 
Sprang  into  the  eyes  of  the  hairy  kine; 
Their  pondering  faces  brood  over  the  hay 
With  a  dreaming  that  never  shall  pass  away. 

In  centuries  young,  in  the  glad  new  time 
Of  music  and  light,  where  the  sunny  clime 
Yields  blossom  and  fruit  to  perfume  the  air, 
Gross  darkness  yet  lingers  in  many  a  lair; 
And  innocent  children  are  cradled  here 
"Where  the  wild  beast  burdens  the  night  with  fear; 
On  the  hole  of  the  asp  they  are  left  to  play, 
By  the  den  of  the  cockatrice  prone  to  stray. 
5 


66  KIN     AND    KING. 

Yet  millennial  light  in  these  desolate  places 
But  feebly  illumines  the  dear  baby-faces, 
Their  guilelessness  early  is  turned  astray  f 
And  the  little  feet  stumble  and  lose  their  way; 
For  the  creeping  things,  like  the  serpent  of  old, 
Leave  a  tortuous  trail  in  the  heart  of  the  fold; 
While  the  sheep  and  the  kine,  imprisoned  and  dumb, 
"Wait  on  in  the  gloom,  till  a  glad  morning  come. 

To  rescue  the  pattering,  straying  feet, 

To  guide  their  steps  to  the  sunny  street, 

And  into  the  meadows  the  little  ones  love, 

To  live  with  the  butterfly,  bee,  and  dove — 

This  kindles  afresh  a  millennial  glow, 

That  will  spread  till  the  darkness  is  white  as  the  snow; 

Its  earliest  ray  can  illumine  the  night, 

And  brighten  the  dullness  of  brutish  might. 

The  heart  of  the  child  is  humanity's  leaven; 
"  Of  such"  is  the  kingdom  of  Earth  as  of  Heaven; 
The  mightiest  stream  and  the  tiniest  rill 
Are  held  as  in  leash  by  the  human  will, — 
And  the  hurrying  clouds  and  the  winds  of  fate; 
For  man  is  master,  in  earthly  estate; 
But  the  pattering  feet  must  be  started  aright, 
For  childhood  is  parent  of  manhood's  might. 


THE  CEOSS  OF  THE  SOUTH.          67 


THE  CEOSS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

BY  MARY  AUSTIN  CARROLL.     (Sister  of  Mercy. ) 

AMONG  the  fairest  and  most  favored  portions  of  the 
earth,  the  Southern  States  of  the  Union  may  justly  rank, 
and  among  the  Southern  States  none  is  more  charming 
than  Louisiana.  Beautiful  at  all  .seasons,  fair  flowers 
and  delicious  fruits  may  be  gathered  from  her  fertile 
soil  every  day  in  the  year.  Green  fields  of  rustling 
sugar-cane,  groves  of  orange  and  bowers  of  myrtle, 
giant  live-oaks  and  stately  palms;  the  song  of  the  mock 
ing-bird  making  melody  in  the  glades;  the  breeze  laden 
with  the  perfume  of  jessamine  and  orange-blossom; 
cotton  scattered  in  the  sunlit  fields  like  a  miraculous 
snow  fall;  gardens  bright  with  color  and  radiant  with 
dew-drops,  glowing  as  with  the  beauty  of  paradise — 
these  are  a  few  of  the  glories  of  the  Southland,  and  they 
gladden  the  hearts  and  feast  the  eyes  of  the  thousands 
who  annually  follow  hither  the  migratory  birds  from  the 
ice-bound  regions  of  the  North. 

The  capital  of  this  semi-tropical  State,  New  Orleans, 
though  ranking  but  eighth  or  ninth  in  population,  is 
perhaps  better  known  throughout  Christendom  than 
any  other  American  city.  From  its  spacious  boulevards, 
miles  of  beautiful  homes  radiate  in  every  direction. 
Handsome  churches  and  fine  public  buildings  vary  the 
scene.  The  inhabitants  are  of  every  tribe  and  tongue, 
and  people  and  nation.  In  a  miscellaneous  crowd,  the 
winter  guests  can  readily  be  recognized  by  their  heavy 
costumes.  Their  child-like  enjoyment  of  the  novelty  of 
blue  skies,  green  trees  and  balmy  air  in  December  and 
January,  is  very  amusing  to  a  people,  many  of  whom 
have  never  seen  snow. 


68  THE    CROSS    OF    THE    SOUTH. 

But,  alas!  the  world-wide  reputation  of  New  Orleans 
is  not  due  solely  to  its  beauty.  Perhaps  the  first  idea 
its  name  suggests  is  yellow  fever,  as  the  English-speak 
ing  races  style  the  plague  which  the  Spaniards  express 
ively  call  vomito.  But  for  that  unwelcome  visitant,  no 
spot  in  America  would  be  more  desirable  as  a  home. 
Yet  despite  the  periodical  visitations  that  appal  the  civ 
ilized  world,  New  Orleans  increases  from  year  to  year 
in  population,  and  that,  to  a  great  extent,  through  Eu 
ropean  and  Northern  immigration.  I  believe  that  if 
immunity  from  that  dreadful  scourge  could  be  had, 
New  Orleans  would  one  day  rank  among  the  largest 
cities  in  the  world. 

The  epidemic  of  1878  was,  I  think,  entirely  unex 
pected.  The  summer  was  very  warm,  but  New  Orleans 
knows  nothing  of  the  heat-waves  which  scorch  the 
Northern  cities.  Heat  is  comparatively  easily  borne 
here.  Dwellings  are  constructed  with  a  view  to  ward 
off  its  most  troublesome  effects.  Low,  deep  houses, 
surrounded  with  spacious  verandas  or  galleries,  shaded 
by  clusters  of  trees,  impervious  to  the  sun  but  not  to 
the  breeze,  are  pleasant  noon-day  retreats.  And  beneath 
the  towering  pecan,  or  the  graceful  sycamore,  or  the 
straggling  fig-tree,  dark  with  heavy  foliage,  trifling  is 
the  inconvenience  felt  at  any  time  from  the  rays  of  an 
almost  vertical  sun.  One  should  stand  unprotected  in 
some  unsheltered  thoroughfare,  to  feel  somewhat  of  the 
broiling,  sweltering,  maddening  heat,  to  which  are  due 
our  sugar  and  cotton  and  coffee. 

But  it  is  not  so  easy  to  guard  against  the  effects  of 
unusual  heat,  especially  when  it  alternates  with  copious 
rains,  as  was  the  case  in  the  summer  of  1878.  Early  in 
August,  the  old  people  began  to  say  with  many  a  shrug: 
"'Tis  always  damp  now — 'tis  yellow-fever  weather." 


THE  CEOSS  OF  THE  SOUTH.          69 

The  gay  ones  jested  about  Yellow  Jack,  and  Bronze 
John,  and  the  Saffron  Plague,  and  the  Knight  with  the 
Orange  Plume,  but  such  jesting  soon  became  ghastly. 
Ere  September  began,  the  plague  was  epidemic.  Be 
fore  October  waned,  scarcely  a  household  in  New  Or 
leans  was  left  unvisited.  No  just  idea  of  the  nature 
and  treatment  of  the  mysterious  blood-poisoning  that 
seems  to  constitute  yellow  fever,  has  yet  been  attained. 
Never  was  a  greater  number  of  contradictory  theories 
broached  in  connection  with  any  other  subject.  No 
sooner  was  one  adopted  than  some  new  development 
upset  it.  Yellow  fever  is  contagious — yellow  fever  is 
not  contagious, — it  is  indigenous — it  is  exotic, — it  is 
propagated  by  germs — it  is  not  propagated  by  germs, — 
it  came  from  damp  weather — it  came  from  bad  drain 
age, — it  came  from  Cuba — it  didn't  come  at  all, — chil 
dren  take  it — children  do  not  take  it, — Creoles  take  it — 
Creoles  do  not  take  it, — negroes  take  it — negroes  do  not 
take  it.  It  is  to  be  treated  by  heating  applications — 
no,  by  cooling, — by  depletion — no,  by  repletion.  Em 
inent  scientific  men  supported  each  view  as  it  was 
advanced,  but  the  Southern  physicians  have  not  yet 
unanimously  decided  upon  anything  concerning  it. 
Several  still  maintain  that  it  is  brought  hither  with 
many  precious  things  from  the  West  Indian  Isles.  A 
few  would  make  the  Gulf  stream  responsible  for  its  ap 
pearance  on  the  fruitful  shores  of  Louisiana. 

Nor  were  theories,  however  wild,  Avithout  their  mar 
tyrs.  A  New  York  doctor,  stricken  with  yellow  fever, 
died  on  the  application  of  his  remedy  to  himself.  An 
English  doctor,  stricken  in  like  manner,  died  while  be 
ing  treated  with  his  own  newly  discovered  and  unfailing 
specific.  In  short,  I  believe  that  every  physician  who 
came  from  a  distance  to  treat  the  fever-stricken,  with  an. 


70  THE    CEOSS    OF    THE    SOUTH. 

"infallible  remedy,"  was  among  the  first  to  illustrate 
the  worthlessness  of  the  same,  when  the  burning  blood 
in  his  own  veins  admonished  him :  Physician,  heal  thy 
self.  From  personal  observation,  it  would  appear  to 
me,  1.  That  yellow  fever  is,  under  certain  conditions, 
indigenous;  2.  That  it  is  not  contagious.  And  I  believe 
that  if  the  streets  and  household  premises  of  New  Or 
leans  were  kept  as  clean  as  those  of  Boston,  yellow  fever 
might  be  an  occasional,  but  would  never  become  an  ep 
idemic  visitor.  There  is  surely  water  enough  for  this 
purpose  in  the  gigantic  river  that  laves  the  coast  of 
Louisiana.  But  the  drainage  of  the  Crescent  City  is  as 
difficult  as  it  is  important.  And  the  City  fathers  have 
not  yet  found  out  a  perfect  method  of  drainage  for  a 
town  which  is  often  several  feet  lower  than  the  waters 
that  encompass  it. 

The  milder  attacks  of  yellow  fever  do  not,  apparently, 
involve  so  much  suffering  as  an  ordinary  bad  headache. 
Its  more  malignant  types  are  among  the  most  excru 
ciating  maladies  from  which  the  poor  human  frame  can 
suffer.  Most  cases,  however,  recover;  and  a  majority 
of  those  who  die,  die  of  relapse.  No  disease  is  more 
difficult  to  nurse.  For  weeks  after  recovery,  danger  of 
relapse  lingers  about  the  convalescent. 

Wherever  this  awful  pestilence  spreads,  a  panic  fol 
lows  it.  Anguish  and  death  are  its  accompaniments. 
Households  are  extinguished  as  by  a  breath,  and  fam 
ily  names  completely  obliterated.  Orphans  are  left 
desolate;  widows  mourn  in  helpless  sorrow  for  strong 
and  loving  husbands;  parents  are  made  childless.  It 
does  its  work  with  fearful  rapidity.  It  would  seem  as 
though  the  mighty  change  was  wrought  by  the  potent 
wand  of  some  evil  magician.  But  yesterday  that  young 
couple  were  happy  in  each  other's  love;  "  their  children 


THE    CROSS    OF    THE    SOUTH.  71 

as  young  plants  of  olive  trees  round  about  their  table." 
Fever  seizes  the  husband,  the  wife  sinks  through  weari 
ness,  the  baby's  little  waxen  figure  soon  fills  a  tiny  cof 
fin.  The  fever  fiend  even  robs  the  parents'  darling  of 
the  beauty  of  death,  for  decomposition  quickly  sets  in. 
The  children  are  now  unkempt  and  neglected.  Droop 
ing  and  dispirited,  they  seek  their  mother's  arms.  But 
she  is  no  longer  able  to  clasp  them  to  her  heart;  for  the 
first  time  in  their  young  lives,  she  seems  unconscious  of 
their  little  griefs.  A  week  later,  the  health  officers  have 
fumigated  the  premises,  and  the  landlord's  notice  is  up 
— House  to  Let.  How  nrany  such  cases  have  I  not 
known !  And  still  sadder  ones,  when  my  hands  removed 
the  sprightly  babe  from  the  cold,  dead  arms  of  a  fair, 
young  mother! 

Well  does  the  poet  ask,  concerning  children :  "  What 
should  they  know  of  death  ?"  How  terrible  would  it  be 
if  these  poor  babes  of  the  epidemic  could  realize  that 
they  are  alone  in  the  world!  Happily,  in  their  infant 
loveliness,  they  know  nothing  of  the  awful  losses  they 
sustain.  They  laugh  as  merrily,  and  crow  as  gaily,  in 
the  arms  of  a  kind  stranger,  as  if  the  proud  mother  of 
other  days  smiled  on  their  infantine  gambols.  And 
truly  this  is  but  just.  Children  have  a  right  to  their 
childhood.  Joy  is  the  special  attribute  of  that  season 
of  innocence.  Like  Tobias,  on  whose  household  the 
angel  Kaphael  poured  the  gift  of  joy,  children  live  in 

i°y- 

Mother  Church  prescribes  a  burial  service  for  chil 
dren;  but  it  is  a  liturgy  of  praise,  not  a  song  of  lamen 
tation.  All  creatures  are  called  upon  to  praise  and 
bless  the  Lord,  because  of  the  precious  darling  whom 
He  has  taken  to  Himself  in  all  the  beauty  of  innocence. 
The  death  of  a  child  is  for  the  sorrow-stricken  parents 


72  THE    CROSS    OF    THE    SOUTH. 

a  sursum  corda.  But  even  the  yellow  fever  has  its 
bright  side.  It  has  done  a  noble  work  throughout  the 
land.  There  were  those  in  the  South  who  thought  that 
the  prosperous  North  owed  them  reparation  for  the 
ruined  homes  and  plundered  hearths  of  the  Civil  War. 
Even  they  must  admit  that  a  noble  atonement  has  been 
made.  In  these  days  of  sickly  sentimentalism,  when  so 
much  is  said  and  so  little  is  done,  it  is  consoling  to  re 
flect  on  the  wonderful  brotherly  love  which  the  sorrows 
of  the  Southland  awoke  throughout  the  country.  Sym 
pathy  and  assistance  flowed  in  upon  the  stricken  from 
all  quarters.  Every  breast  throbbed  with  a  heaven- 
inspired  charity.  That  Catholic  priests  should  ad 
minister  the  sacraments  at  the  risk  of  their  lives,  is  only 
their  duty.  That  Sisters  of  Mercy  should  stand  by  the 
plague-stricken  until  they  themselves  fell,  is  doing 
"  nothing  more  than  is  appointed  them."  No  epidemic 
of  any  kind,  in  any  clime,  has  ever  seen  one  of  them 
falter,  from  the  novice  of  sixteen  to  the  venerable  jubi- 
larian;  for  God,  who  gives  them  their  vocation,  gives 
them,  with  the  blessed  habit  they  are  privileged  to  wear, 
grace  to  fulfill  all  its  requirements  to  the  uttermost. 
But,  during  this  appalling  visitation,  God  be  praised, 
heroism  was  not  confined  to  any  class.  The  lowly,  who 
had  only  their  time  to  give,  gave  it.  The  hard-working, 
who  could  not  spare  their  time,  gave  their  mite.  The 
rich  gave  out  of  their  abundance;  and  fashionable  la 
dies,  fair  of  face  and  regal  in  form,  sought  the  fetid  at 
mosphere  of  death,  and  bent  over  the  sufferers  with 
maternal  love.  In  short,  heroism  seemed  rather  the 
rule  than  the  exception;  and  were  I  to  make  a  record  of 
the  heroes  of  the  epidemic,  many  of  the  physicians  of 
the  south  would  rank  high  in  the  category.  One  good 
feature  of  the  yellow  fever  is  that  it  does  not  keep  the 


THE  CEOSS  OF  THE  SOUTH.          73 

interested  parties  long  in  suspense.  The  odd  days  are 
said  to  be  the  fatal  ones,  and  patients  who  get  over  the 
fifth  day  ought  to  recover,  if  there  be  no  imprudence  in 
taking  nourishment  and  no  neglect  on  the  part  of  nurses. 

Not  pretending  to  any  technical  knowledge  of  this 
strange  disease,  I  speak  solely  of  the  results  of  my  own 
observation.  I  have  seen  cases  in  which  the  hideous 
"black  vomit,"  from  which  the  disease  (vomilo)  takes  its 
name,  appeared  early  on  the  third  day,  or  e~ven  sooner. 
This  is  a  most  grave  symptom,  though  not  necessarily 
a  fatal  one.  The  putrid  blood,  popularly  called  black 
vomit,  resembles  coffee-grounds  in  appearance,  though 
I  have  seen  it  come  up  black  as  pure  coffee  from  the 
mouth  of  a  coffee-pot.  But  though  yellow  fever  has 
many  phases,  it  is  always  quickly  over,  like  the  Mexican 
plague,  which  is  equivalent  to  it  or  identical  with  it. 
"  Ah,"  said  an  old  man  to  the  writer,  "  I  have  just  been 
to  the  cemetery  to  see  my  wife's  grave;  and  I  heard 

young  H ,  who  buried  his  wife  yesterday,  telling  the 

sexton  not  to  bury  any  one  over  her,  for  he  meant  to 
raise  a  head-stone  and  plant  flowers  around  her  grave 
in  winter,  as  soon  as  he  got  work."  Four  days  later,  the 

slender  funeral  procession  of  "young  H ''wound 

its  way  under  the  weeping  willows.  His  babv,  a  little 
beauty  of  fifteen  months,  fair  as  a  snow-flake  and  blithe 
as  a  spring  bird,  is  now  our  adopted  child. 

Yellow  fever  has  been  a  blessing,  though  in  a  horri 
ble  guise.  It  has  knit  together  the  once  sundered  peo 
ple  of  North  and  South,  as  the  soul  of  Jonathan  was 
knit  to  the  soul  of  David,  and  effaced  all  bitter  recol 
lections  between  the  Blue  and  the  Gray.  It  has  inspired 
a  splendid  generosity  in  the  victors  and  a  noble  grati 
tude  in  the  vanquished.  To  the  Church  it  has  done 
the  work  of  an  Evangelist;  for  those  whom  the  Church 


74  THE    CROSS    OF    THE    SOUTH. 

commissioned  to  go  forth  among  the  plague-stricken,  in 
her  name,  have  painted  Christ  to  men.  It  has  done, 
also,  the  work  of  an  Apostle,  for  they  brought  men  to 
Christ.  It  has  been  as  a  last  grace  to  many  a  prodigal. 
It  has  awakened  a  strong  sense  of  dependence  on  the 
Supreme  Being  who  wounds  but  to  heal;  who  chastises 
his  children  in  mercy  and  in  love,  because  he  is  their 
Father.  It  has  strengthened  and  ennobled  the  good, 
and  brought  sinners  weeping  to  the  feet  of  His  offended 
Majesty.  Never  was  there  a  greater  revival  of  piety. 
Chastisement  did  what,  alas!  love  had  not  effected. 
Crowds  thronged  the  churches  at  the  early  masses. 
The  Holy  Table  was  surrounded  with  pious,  trusting 
souls.  Eager  worshipers  knelt  around  the  tabernacle, 
beseeching  the  hidden  God  to  show  mercy  and  protec 
tion  to  all  whom  they  held  near  and  dear  on  earth. 

0,  Helix  Culpa!  Speaking  of  the  sin  of  Adam,  the 
Church  cries  out,  in  an  excess  of  gratitude  and  love : 
"  O,  happy  fault,  which  deserved  so  great  a  Redeemer !" 
In  a  kindred  spirit,  we  many  reverently  apostrophize 
the  plague  which  has  desolated  our  homes :  O,  blessed 
scourge,  which  opened  heaven  for  many  of  the  dead, 
and  diew  honey  from  the  rock,  and  oil  from  the  flinty 
stone,  in  the  land  of  the  living!  Whatever  secondary 
causes  brought  it  among  us,  God  was  the  primary  cause. 
There  is  no  evil  in  the  city,  saith  the  Prophet,  but  the 
Lord  hath  done  it.  Divine  wrath  was  tempered  by 
mercy.  Is  not  the  good  it  has  evoked  greater  than  even 
the  misery  it  has  entailed?  The  same  God  who  gave  the 
South  patience  to  endure,  gave  the  North  generosity  to 
relieve.  "  Thou  hast  done  many  wonders,  O  Lord,  my 
God!  and  in  Thy  thoughts  there  is  none  like  unto 
Thee." 

And  we,  who  have  seen  many  fair,  young  creatures — 


NOETH    AND     SOUTH.  75 

this  week  working  beside  us,  next  week  lying  side  by 
side  on  the  same  bier — the  altars  covered  with  white 
flowers  and  draped  with  silver,  emblematic  of  their  purity 
— creatures  in  whom  were  centered  so  many  lofty  hopes 
and  such  a  holy  ambition,  as  we  recall  them  lying  on 
couches  darkened  with  their  heart's-blood  in  excruci 
ating  agony,  but  sublime  resignation  and  joy — even  we 
can  follow  in  spirit  to  a  fairer  world  than  this,  those 
precious  ones  who  have  gone  before  us  with  the  sign  of 
Faith,  and  rest  in  the  sleep  of  peace.  We  can  say  a 
Deo  Gratias  for  their  early  translation  from  the  miseries 
of  earth  to  the  glories  of  heaven.  Grant  them,  O  Lord, 
eternal  rest,  and  let  perpetual  light  shine  upon  them. 
But  we  who  live,  let  us  bless  the  Lord ! 


NOETH   AND    SOUTH. 

BY  MRS.  L.  VIRGINIA  FRENCH. 

THEY  planted  them  together — our  gallant  sires  of  old — 
Though  one  was  crowned  with  crystal  snows  and  one  with 

solar  gold; 

They  planted  them  together — on  the  world's  majestic  height, 
At  Saratoga's  deathless  charge,  at  Eutaw's  stubborn  fight. 
At  midnight  on  the  dark  redoubt,  'mid  plunging  shot  and 

shell— 

At  noontide  gasping  in  the  crush  of  battle's  bloody  swell — 
With  gory  hands  and  reeking  brows,  amid  the  mighty  fray, 
Which  surged  and  swelled  around  them,  on  that  memorable 

day, 

When  they  planted  Independence,  as  a  symbol  and  a  sign, 
They  struck  deep  soil  and  planted  the  Palmetto  and  the  Pine ! 


76  THE    MAY-FLOWER. 


THE  MAY-FLOWER. 

BY  REV.  DE,  P.  A.  CHADBOURNE. 

THOU  bonny  gift  of  northern  climes, 

Nestling  beneath  the  snow, 
"Waiting  the  blue-bird's  joyful  note 

To  bid  thy  flowerets  blow; 

What  rnem'ries  wake  at  thy  command, 
Of  childhood's  life  and  home ! 

And  hoary  age  may  learn  from  thee 
Of  other  life  to  come. 

Fair  spreads  thy  never-withering  leaf, 

Beneath  the  oak  and  pine, 
Its  green,  unchanged  by  wintry  storms, 

Adorns  thy  russet  vine. 

Thy  clustering  buds  unfold  their  tints 
And  greet  the  morning  sun, 

With  odors  like  the  prayers  of  saints, 
That  rise  before  the  Throne. 

Oh,  bravest  flower  of  early  spring! 

Long  may  thy  lessons  last, 
And  bid  me  hope  for  nobler  life, 

When  wintry  death  is  past. 


THE    LAST    DAYS    OF    CHARLES    LEE.  77 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  CHAELES  LEE. 

BY  JOHN  ESTEN"  COOKE. 

ON  the  side  of  a  road  in  the  valley  of  Virginia,  not  far 
from  the  Potomac,  stands  a  small,  poor  house,  crouch 
ing  down  on  a  knoll,  overshadowed  by  a  few  trees.  '  It 
is  the  picture  of  poverty  and  neglect;  and  the  spot  is 
the  loneliest  of  the  lonely,  although  a  little  village  is 
not  far  off.  The  road  is  followed  by  few  travelers,  and 
these  few  scarcely  glance  at  the  house  as  they  pass, — at 
the  dilapidated  fence,  the  path  through  the  grass,  the 
low  porch  with  rotting  floor,  the  squat  stone-gables,  and 
the  chimney  from  which  no  smoke  rises.  Loneliness 
and  desolation  reign  here:  the  creeping  shadows  and 
the  leaves  of  the  gnarled  trees  alone  move.  The  house 
is  there  in  the  winter  nights  and  the  summer  days,  ob 
scure  and  forgotten, — and  yet  a  man  once  lived  here 
whose  name  was  famous  in  two  hemispheres. 

This  man  was  General  Charles  Lee,  the  rival,  in  his 
own  estimation  at  least,  of  Washington,  and  the  sinister 
hero  of  Monmouth,  where  his  long  career  suddenly 
ended,  as  a  drama  ends  on  the  fall  of  the  curtain.  Lee 
came  to  drag  out  his  last  days  here,  after  the  battle 
which  resulted  in  his  disgrace;  and  not  far  off  was  an 
other  home,  called  "Traveler's  Rest,"  where  General 
Gates,  another  aspiring  Englishman,  took  refuge  after 
the  semi-disgrace  of  Camden.  These  two  wrecks  of 
vessels  once  strong  and  famous,  were  cast  ashore  at 
nearly  the  same  spot.  Lee  was  the  more  remarkable 
man  of  the  two;  and  a  rare  work  published  in  London 
toward  the  end  of  the  last  century,  furnishes  many  an 
ecdotes  and  personal  details  of  him,  which  I  shall  use 
here,  adding  to  them  what  I  have  collected  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  the  house  I  have  tried  to  describe. 


78  THE    LAST    DAYS    OF    CHARLES    LEE. 

Lee  belonged  to  the  English  gentry,  his  father  being 
John  Lee,  Esq.,  of  Dernhall,  in  Chestershire,  and  his 
mother  a  daughter  of  Sir  Henry  Bunbury,  baronet.  He 
was  born  in  the  year  1731,  and  entered  the  English 
army  with  a  commission  when  he  was  eleven  years  old. 
His  first  military  experience  was  in  America,  in  1755, 
when  he  went  with  Braddock  on  his  ill-fated  march  to 
Fort  Duquesne;  after  which  he  served  in  Canada,  and 
then  as  major  in  Portugal,  where  he  led  a  desperate  as 
sault  on  a  Moorish  fortress;  afterwards  he  returned  to 
England.  Never  was  man  more  restless  and  antagonis 
tic  than  this  young  Englishman,  and  his  pen  wras  as 
trenchant  as  his  sword  or  his  temper.  He  attacked  the 
Ministry  then  and  afterwards,  in  terms  so  violent  and 
bitter  that  he  was  long  supposed  to  be  the  author  of  the 
letters  of  "  Junius."  He  fell  into  disgrace,  and  his 
restless  spirit  fretted  like  a  sword-edge  against  the  scab 
bard.  He  went  to  Poland,  where  he  secured  the  warm 
friendship  of  King  Stanislaus  Augustus,  who  made  him 
a  general,  und  intrusted  him  with  important  operations 
against  Hussia  and  Turkey.  Thence  he  went  to  Italy, 
where  he  fought  duels,  hobbled  about  tortured  by  gout, 
and  continued  to  attack  the  English  ministry,  then  oc 
cupied  with  the  American  problem.  He  was  or  seemed 
to  be  a  warm  sympathizer  with  the  Colonies;  and  re 
turning  at  last  to  England,  embarked  in  1773  for  Amer 
ica,  where  his  reputation  had  preceded  him.  Was  he 
honest  and  unselfish  in  his  espousal  of  the  cause  of  the 
Americans  ?  At  least  he  was  looking  in  that  direction 
before  the  revolution,  and  in  1767  he  wrote  to  a  friend 
from  Warsaw:  "I  wish  by  practice  to  make  myself  a 
soldier,  for  purposes  honest  but  which  I  shall  not  men 
tion."  It  is  pretty  certain  that  he  had  determined 
deliberately  to  offer  his  sword  to  the  Colonies;  and 


THE    LAST    DAYS    OF    CHARLES    LEE.  79 

there  is  little  doubt  that  he  expected  to  become  their 
leader.  It  was  a  glittering  ambition, — the  leadership 
of  three  million  rebels  against  the  empire  which  had 
not  rewarded  him  and  which  he  hated  so.  His  recep 
tion  seemed  to  justify  his  hopes.  He  was  greeted  with 
enthusiasm;  the  American  leaders  appreciated  at  their 
fall  value  his  military  experience  and  ability.  He  vis 
ited  the  great  cities,  conferring  everywhere  with  promi 
nent  men,  and  on  a  visit  to  Washington  at  Mount 
Vernon,  met  another  gentleman  adventurer  from  Eng 
land,  Horatio  Gates,  who  had  also  come  to  offer  his 
sword  to  the  Colonies.  Here  he  left  behind  him  an 
unsavory  impression.  He  was  brusque,  careless  and 
unceremonious,  even  in  presence  of  Mrs.  Washington, 
and  is  said  to  have  stalked  through  her  drawing  rooms, 
followed  by  his  dogs,  with  little  regard  for  the  lady's 
wishes  or  feelings. 

From  Mount  Vernon  Lee  passed  to  Boston,  and 
11  blazed  forth  as  a  Whig  of  the  first  magnitude."  In 
May,  1775,  we  find  him  at  Philadelphia,  becoming 
"daily  a  greater  enthusiast  in  the  cause  of  liberty." 
His  vigorous  pen  had  defended  the  Colonies  in  a  widely- 
read  pamphlet:  he  had  "blazed  forth"  in  all  companies 
as  the  friend  of  America,  and  his  presence  at  Philadel 
phia  explained  what  everything  meant.  Congress  was 
in  session,  and  the  question  was,  who  should  be  ap 
pointed  Commander-in-Chief  ?  This  post  he  doubtless 
expected;  and  Washington's  appointment  in  his  place 
probably  laid  the  foundation  of  the  bitter  enmity  and 
insubordination  which  he  afterwards  displayed.  Ho 
was,  however,  made  Major-General,  and  proceeded  to 
Boston.  He  had  played  boldly  for  the  great  stake  and 
lost,  but  submitted.  It  was  done  with  a  bad  grace,  but 
there  was  no  other  course  to  follow.  So  Major-General, 


bU  THE    LAST    DAYS    OF    CHARLES    LEE. 

not  General-in-Cliief,  Charles  Lee  took  Iris  place  in  the 
struggle.  He  served  in  the  North,  then  as  the  war  went 
on,  in  the  South;  afterward,  in  the  autumn  of  1776,  he 
rejoined  Washington  at  New  York,  and  commanded  the 
rear -guard  of  the  army  when  the  city  was  evacuated. 

From  this  moment  began  the  series  of  operations,  or 
failures  to  operate,  which  culminated  in  the  affair  of 
Monmouth  and  the  ruin  of  the  aspiring  Englishman. 
Washington  retreated  through  the  Jerseys,  leaving  Lee 
in  Westchester  County,  in  the  vicinity  of  New  York,  in 
command  of  7000  men.  The  opportunity  had  come  at 
last — for  what?  For  one  of  two  things:  either  for  be 
traying  the  American  cause,  or  striking  a  blow  which 
should  throw  the  fame  of  "Washington  in  the  shade.  If 
the  charges  afterwards  brought  against  Lee,  of  treason 
to  his  flag,  were  true  charges,  then  little  doubt  remains 
that  his  plans  were  formed  at  this  time.  No  man  be 
comes  a  traitor  suddenly.  Even  Arnold  reflected  long, 
and  took  time  to  allow  his  sinister  project  to  infuse 
itself  into  his  mind,  before  he  resolved  to  act. 

Whether  Lee,  at  this  time,  was  or  was  not  true  to  the 
cause,  is  not  demonstrated  by  documentary  evidence;  but 
his  movements  were  strange,  indeed.  Washington,  in 
great  straits  in  the  Jerseys,  incessantly  called  on  him 
to  rejoin  him.  Lee  replied  by  trivial  excuses,  and  lagged 
in  rear  near  New  York,  subjecting  the  cause  to  two 
dangers, — that  of  being  cut  off  himself,  and  that  of 
Washington's  defeat  through  his  failure  to  unite  with 
him.  He  or  his  friends  intimated  that  his  design  was 
to  recapture  New  York,  to  attack  the  enemy's  rear,  to 
perform  some  resplendent  exploit  to  redeem  the  nearly 
lost  cause  from  ruin.  Possibly.  He  alleged,  at  least, 
that  his  intention  was  to  "  reconquer  the  Jerseys;" 
but  whatever  his  design  was,  he  disobeyed  the  repeated 


THE    LAST    DAYS    OF    CHARLES    LEE.  81 

orders  of  his  superior.  He  moved  like  a  tortoise  when 
he  was  compelled  to  move,  from  fear  of  provoking  Wash 
ington  to  one  of  his  dangerous  outbursts.  But  it  was 
a  sullen  and  bitter  obedience,  and  only  half-obedience 
after  all.  Washington  ordered  him  in  express  terms  to 
move  by  one  route  and  he  moved  by  another.  Then 
one  morning  at  a  small  town  called  Baskingridge,  he 
was  surprised  and  captured,  and  hurried  off  in  his 
slippers  and  dressing  gown,  behind  a  clattering  trooper, 
to  the  British  head-quarters,  where  the  thunder  of  can 
non  soon  afterwards  announced  his  arrival. 

Was  this  capture  preconcerted  between  him  and  the 
enemy?  People  said  so.  The  house  he  had  slept  in 
was  three  miles  from  his  army,  and  he  scarcely  had  a 
guard.  As  on  many  other  occasions,  .General  Charles 
Lee  had  at  least  the  misfortune  of  having  appearances 
against  him.  He  may  have  been  true  to  the  flag  he  was 
fighting  under, — let  us  give  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt, 
at  least.  He  was  well  treated  by  the  British  in  the  city 
of  New  York,  released  on  parole,  and  paid  the  atten 
tions  due  to  his  rank.  Now  comes  the  question  on 
which  hangs  the  solution  of  every  mystery  in  regard  to 
him :  Was  he  or  was  he  not  the  author  of  the  paper 
apparently  in  his  handwriting,  indorsed  "  Mr.  Lee's 
Plan?" 

In  the  case  of  every  human  being  in  the  world, 
charged  with  crime,  there  is  some  one  central  point 
which  it  is  necessary  to  establish  clearly  before  you  can 
convict  him.  On  this  all  hinges,  and  the  name  and 
fame  of  Charles  Lee  hinge  on  the  paper  referred  to.  To 
sum  up  what  seems  to  be  the  truth,  its  authenticity  is 
not  clearly  established.  The  allegation  is,  that  on 
March  29,  1777,  whilst  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the 
enemy,  he  submitted  to  the  English  commander  a  plan 
6 


82  THE    LAST    DAYS     OF     CHARLES    LEE. 

for  the  reconquest  of  America,  by  the  advance  of  Bur- 
gojne  in  the  north  to  paralyze  New  England,  and  an 
expedition  up  the  Chesapeake  to  cut  the  two  sections 
in  Maryland.  This  paper  which  is  now  in  existence, 
indorsed  "Mr.  Lee's  Plan,"  by — it  is  said — Henry 
Strachey,  secretary  of  the  Royal  Commission,  is  alleged 
to  be  in  the  handwriting  of  General  Charles  Lee.  If 
so,  General  Charles  Lee  was  a  traitor.  But  did  he  write 
the  paper?  He  is  dead  and  cannot  defend  himself. 
There  is  only  the  presumption,  and  presumption  is  "an 
argument,  strong  but  not  demonstrative,"  says  Dr. 
Johnson.  We  are  justified  in  measuring  its  force  here 
by  Lee's  course  before  and  afterwards.  Even  doing  so, 
the  case  is  "not  proved,"  legally  speaking,  nor  is  the 
contrary  established. 

In  May,  1778,  Lee  was  exchanged  and  resumed  his 
command.  The  battle  of  Monmouth  followed,  and  here 
the  smouldering  suspicioli  which  seems  to  have  gradu 
ally  increased,  culminated  in  a  full  conviction  in  many 
minds,  of  his  treason.  The  British  army  was  retiring 
from  Philadelphia,  and  a  council  of  war  was  held  in  the 
American  camp  to  decide  whether  the  enemy  should  be 
attacked.  Lee  opposed  the  attack,  and  when  it  was  de 
termined  upon,  his  cooperation  was  plainly  cold  and 
unwilling,  or  it  seemed  to  be.  He  resigned  command 
of  the  advance,  to  Lafayette,  but  subsequently  re-claimed 
it,  and  a  collision  with  the  enemy  ensued.  Washington 
was  in  rear,  advancing  with  the  main  body  to  the  heights 
where  he  intended  to  deliver  battle.  He  had  mounted 
his  horse  and  was  riding  forward,  confident  of  the  suc 
cess  of  his  dispositions,  when  he  met  stragglers,  then 
squads,  then  whole  companies  rushing  to  the  rear.  That 
sight  must  have  brought  a  chill  to  the  stout  heart.  He 
had  received  a  singular  warning  on  the  night  before. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  CHARLES  LEE.      83 

Doctor  Griffith,  afterwards  elected  Bishop  of  Virginia,  a 
person  of  the  highest  character,  had  requested  a  private 
interview  with  him,  and  said  to  him:  " I  have  sought 
this  interview  to  warn  your  Excellency  against  the  con 
duct  of  Major-general  Lee  in  to-morrow's  battle.  While 
I  am  not  permitted  to  divulge  the  names  of  the  authori 
ties  from  whom  I  have  obtained  my  information,  I  can 
assure  you  that  they  are  of  the  very  first  order." 

Did  these  words  come  to  his  memory  as  he  was  now 
galloping  to  the  front?  The  signs  of  retreat  increased 
at  every  step.  From  beyond  a  causeway  over  a  stream 
in  front,  came  confused  shouting  and  the  discharge  of 
musketry.  Washington  went  on  at  the  full  speed  of  his 
horse.  At  the  causeway  two  entire  regiments  appeared 
in  full  retreat.  To  his  irate  demand  if  the  whole  corps 
was  retreating,  the  officer  in  command  replied  that  he 
believed  it  was.  Beyond  the  causeway  a  heavy  column 
was  steadily  retiring,  and  Washington,  on  fire  now  with 
anger,  demanded  why  they  were  retreating.  The  colonel 
in  front  was  no  less  irate  than  himself. 

"I  do  not  know,  sir,"  he  said,  with  the  disdain  of  a 
soldier;  "I  am  retreating  by  order  I" 

"I  never  saw  the  like!"  exclaimed  another  officer; 
and  a  third,  blurting  out  a  violent  oath,  cried: 

"  We  are  flying  from  a  shadow!" 

Thus  the  Americans  spoke,  with  or  without  reason. 
Washington  raged  and  went  on.  Suddenly  he  found 
himself  facing  Lee,  and  checked  his  horse  so  violently 
that  he  was  thrown  upon  his  haunches. 

"I  desire  to  know  the  meaning  of  this  disorder  and 
confusion!"  he  cried. 

Lee  scowled  at  him;  the  insult  of  the  tone  probably 
enraged  him. 

"What  means  this  ill-timed  prudence?"  Washington 
exclaimed. 


84  THE    LAST    DAYS    OF    CHARLES    LEE. 

' '  No  one  possesses  more  of  that  rascally  virtue  than 
your  Excellency!"  retorted  the  enraged  Lee.  Washing 
ton's  wrath  thereupon  mastered  him. 

"You  poltroon! "he  exclaimed,  "I  have  certain  in 
formation  that  it  was  only  a  strong  covering  party!" 

"  That  may  be,"  growled  Lee,  "but  it  was  stronger 
than  mine,  and  I  did  not  think  proper  to  run  such  a 
risk." 

Washington  controlled  his  anger  by  a  violent  effort, 
and  said  sternly: 

"I  am  very  sorry  that  you  undertook  the  command, 
unless  you  meant  to  fight  the  enemy." 

' '  I  did  not  think  it  prudent  to  bring  on  a  general  en 
gagement,"  returned  Lee. 

"  Whatever  your  opinion  may  have  been,  I  expected 
my  orders  would  have  been  obeyed,"  was  the  cold  reply. 

All  had  occurred  in  a  few  moments.  There  was 
no  time  for  further  colloquy.  The  enemy  were  pressing 
the  Americans  hotly,  and  Alexander  Hamilton,  thor 
oughly  convinced  of  the  treason  of  Lee,  leaped  from  his 
horse  and  drew  his  sword,  exclaiming: 

"We  are  betrayed!  Your  Excellency  and  the  army 
are  betrayed!  The  moment  has  arrived  when  every  true 
friend  of  America  and  her  cause  must  be  ready  to  die 
in  her  defense." 

The  brave  Creole  had  thus  coined  the  situation  into 
one  sentence,  which  expressed  the  feeling  of  all.  Wash 
ington  had  cooled  as  the  rest  grew  hot. 

"  Colonel  Hamilton,"  he  said  to  his  aide,  "you  will 
take  your  horse." 

He  then  turned  to  Lee,  who  was  sullenly  sitting 
upon  his  horse  before  himr  and  said  briefly: 

"Will  you  retain  the  command  on  this  height  or  not? 
If  you  will,  I  will  return  to  the  main  body  and  have  it 
formed  on  the  next  height.'* 


THE    LAST    DAYS    OF    CHARLES    LEE.  85 

"It  is  equal  to  rno  where  I  command,"  growled  Lee. 

"I  expect  you  will  take  proper  measures  for  checking 
the  enemy." 

"Your  orders  shall  be  obeyed,"  replied  Lee,  full  of 
wrath  and  mortification,  "  and  I  shall  not  be  the  first 
to  leave  the  ground." 

Was  this  the  reply  of  a  brave  man  who  had  only 
committed  an  error  of  judgment,  or  of  a  traitor  who 
saw  the  opportunity  for  his  treason  escape  him,  and  re 
turned  to  his  allegiance?  It  was  the  reply  of  a  soldier; 
and  he  kept  his  word.  He  re-formed  his  men,  and 
fought  stubbornly  till  the  main  body  was  up.  He  then 
retired  in  perfect  order,  and  riding  up  to  Washington, 
said: 

"  There,  sir,  are  my  troops.  How  is  it  your  pleasure 
that  I  should  dispose  of  them?" 

He  was  directed  to  march  them  to  the  rear  and  rest 
them;  and  there  Lee  remained  until  the  end  of  the  bat 
tle,  and  the  retreat  of  the  enemy. 

Such  was  the  famous  incident  of  Monmouth  whose 
result  was  the  ruin  of  Charles  Lee.  He  demanded  a 
court-martial,  and  was  tried  on  the  charges  of  having 
made  an  "unnecessary,  disorderly  and  shameful  re 
treat,"  and  of  writing  disrespectful  letters  to  his  super 
iors.  He  was  convicted  of  both,  except  that  the  word 
shameful  was  omitted,  and  the  words  in  some  instances 
inserted  before  unnecessary.  The  sentence  was  suspen 
sion  from  command  for  one  year,  subject  to  the  approval 
of  Congress.  It  was  approved,  and  Lee  afterwards 
wrote  an  insulting  letter  to  Congress,  which  resulted  in 
his  dismissal  from  the  service. 

So  ended  the  military  career  of  the  famous  Charles 
Lee.  He  had  purchased  a  tract  of  land  in  the  Virginia 
valley,  and  retired  to  the  small  house  I  have  described, 


86  THE    LAST    DAYS     OF    CHARLES    LEE. 

to  pass  his  last  days.  It  was  a  strange  retreat  for  the 
man  who  had  been  the  friend  of  kings.  It  had  no  par 
titions  even,  and  was  divided  by  chalk  lines  drawn  on 
the  floor,  into  a  kitchen,  sitting-room,  chamber,  etc. 
Here  the  old  scowling  soldier  lived  with  his  books  and 
dogs,  and  one  servant.  General  Gates  lived  at  "Trav 
eler's  Kesfc,"  a  few  miles  distant,  in  disgrace  like  Lee, 
and  they  sometimes  visited  each  other,  but  Mrs.  Gates 
seems  not  to  have  been  a  lady  very  much  to  Lee's  taste. 
It  is  said  that  on  one  occasion,  when  she  was  quarreling 
as  usual  with  her  husband,  she  appealed  to  Lee  for  his 
opinion  in  the  matter  at  issue,  and  of  herself. 

"Madam,"  Lee  replied,  with  his  most  sarcastic  smile 
and  a  bow,  "you  are  a  tragedy  in  private  life  and, — a 
farce  to  all  the  world!" 

So  neighborhood  tradition  relates,  and  the  reply  is 
characteristic.  Sometimes  Lee  was  coarse  even  in  his 
denunciation.  To  a  gentleman  of  South  Carolina,  he 
wrote — "I  was  taught  to  consider  you  only  as  a  fantas 
tic,  pompous  dramatis  personal,  a  mere  Malvolio :  but  I 
find  that  you  are  as  malignant  a  scoundrel  as  you  are 
universally  allowed  to  be  a  ridiculous  and  disgusting 
coxcomb." 

Weary  of  the  tedium  of  his  dull  life  here,  he  wrote 
his  famous  "Queries,  Political  and  Military,"  attacking 
Washington,  and  published  them  in  the  city  of  Balti 
more.  But  no  one  took  any  notice  of  him,  least  of  all 
Washington.  Tradition  in  the  neighborhood  relates 
that  the  great  commander  bore  no  ill  will  toward  him 
in  his  retirement,  and  one  day,  on  a  visit  to  the  valley, 
sent  word  that  he  was  coming  to  call  upon  him.  Lee 
sent  no  reply,  and  on  the  day  appointed  he  pinned  a 
piece  of  paper  on  his  door,  containing  the  words,  "No 
meat  cooked  here  to-day,7'  and  rode  away. 


ENFORCEMENT    OF    LAW.  87 

Sucli  was  this  bitter,  eccentric  soldier  in  liis  dreary 
home  by  the  roadside.  At  last  his  life  became  intoler 
able.  He  grew  tired  of  all  things, — of  his  books,  his 
hunting  and  his  dogs,  which,  it  is  said,  he  had  blas- 
phemingly  named  after  the  Holy  Trinity  and  the  twelve 
apostles.  The  vast  solitudes  of  the  mountains  oppressed 
him.  He  resolved  to  sell  his  estate,  and  went  to  Phil 
adelphia,  where  he  took  lodgings  in  the  "Old  Slate 
Roof  House,"  formerly  the  residence  of  Benedict  Arnold 
when  he  was  commandant  in  the  city;  and  here,  in  the 
autumn  of  1782,  he  was  seized  with  a  shivering,  suc 
ceeded  by  fever,  which  carried  him  off  in  a  few  days. 
His  last  thoughts,  like  Napoleon's,  were  of  battle.  He 
went  back  in  memory  to  the  assault  on  Ticonderoga, 
and  exclaimed  in  his  delirium : 

"Stand  by  me,  my  brave  grenadiers!" 

So  he  ended — like  a  soldier:  dreaming  of  battle,  if 
not  dying  with  harness  on  his  back. 


ENFORCEMENT  OF  LAW. 

BY  REV.  DR.  HOWARD  CROSBY. 

A  Democratic  State  needs,  besides  its  government 
elected  by  the  people,  a  voluntary  association  of  well 
known  and  respectable  citizens,  whose  one  object,  as  an 
association,  shall  be  to  see  that  the  laws,  especially  the 
criminal  laws,  are  enforced.  They  would  be  a  Vigil 
ance  Committee  in  a  conservative  and  not  an  insurrec 
tionary  sense.  They  would  act  in  behalf  of  law  and  in 
the  channels  of  law.  The  knowledge  of  their  watchful 
position  would  quicken  the  sense  of  duty  in  police  offi 
cers,  prosecuting  attorneys  and  judges,  and  would 


88  ENFORCEMENT    OF     LAW. 

strengthen  the  moral  sentiment  of  the  community. 
Elected  officers  naturally  fall  into  careless  habits,  even 
when  they  escape  the  temptations  to  dishonesty.  The 
best  of  them  need  the  spur.  Human  nature  teaches  a 
public  officer  to  do  just  as  little  as  is  consistent  with 
appearances  and  the  drawing  of  his  salary.  He  needs 
an  overseer.  What  is  everybody's  business  is  nobody's 
business.  Hence  we  should  have  the  "  Law  and  Order 
League,"  or  "  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Crime,"  or 
"  Association  to  Enforce  the  Laws,"  in  every  organized 
community.  It  would  maintain  itself  and  accomplish 
its  work  only  as  its  members  were  men  whom  the  com 
munity  trusted.  Otherwise  they  would  prove  a  cipher. 
They  could  do  no  good,  neither  could  they  do  harm.  If 
they  were  unknown  and  untrusted  men,  neither  the 
community  nor  the  officers  of  the  law  would  pay  any  at 
tention  to  them.  Their  power  would  reside  in  their 
moral  character  and  reputation. 

Such  an  organization  is  not  to  be  the  outgrowth  of 
constitutional  or  statute  law,  but  the  spontaneous  de 
velopment  of  a  free  and  enlightened  people;  a  natural 
process  of  healthy  growth,  approving  itself  to  every 
honest  citizen.  Organizations  of  this  sort  are  now 
springing  up  in  very  many  towns  and  the  result  is  al 
ready  gratifying.  Their  formation  marks  a  new  era  in 
the  history  of  government,  and  gives  a  cheering  augury 
for  the  future. 


EECOMPENSE.  89 


EECOMPENSE. 

BY  DORA  DARMOORE. 
A  FAIR  isle  smiled  upon,  the  sea. 
From  its  mountain- tops  and  shady  vales, 
From  its  meadows  and  its  forests  green, 
There  seemed  to  come  a  song  of  praise 
That  God  had  made  the  earth  so  beautiful. 
The  little  streams  that  in  their  mossy  beds, 
Like  threads  of  melted  pearls,  crept  to  the  sea, 
Sang  softly  to  themselves  a  hymn  of  peace; 
And  where  the  modest  violet  looked  up, 
With  blue  eyes  moistened  with  the  glistening  dew, 
The  lark  had  built  his  nest.     And  when  the  dawn 
Came  smiling  forth  in  robes  of  roseate  light, 
He,  soaring  up  on  pinions  strong  and  free, 
Warbled  his  greeting  to  the  coming  day. 

Upon  a  mountain's  brow  that  overlooked  the  sea, 

A  single  oak  lifted  its  proud  head  toward  heaven, 

Its  branches,  thick  and  interlacing,  bore 

A  wealth  of  foliage  in  their  clasping  arms; 

And  'round  its  fair  and  shapely  trunk 

The  green  vines  clustered  with  a  fond  embrace; 

And  'mid  its  sheltering  boughs  the  blithe  birds  dwelt, 

And  sang  their  merry  songs  from  year  to  year. 

There  came  to  this  fair  isle  amid  the  sea, 

A  wanderer,  tempest-tossed,  and  bowed  with  grief, 

Seeking  for  that  which  he  had  failed  to  find 

Amid  the  world's  great  conflicts — Peace. 

"  Ah!  here,  at  last,"  he  cried,  "I  find  the  home, 

The  bright  Elysium  I  so  long  have  sought, 

And  it  shall  henceforth  be  to  me  my  rest. 

No  envious  strife,  no  hollow  friendships  here! 

Here  proud  Ambition  finds  no  crown  to  win. 


90  RECOMPENSE. 

And  on  these  fair  and  fragrant  plains/ 
The  iron  heel  of  War  has  never  trod. 
'Neath  this  majestic  oak  I'll  make  my  home; 
And,  when  oppressed  with  heat  of  summer's  sun, 
Beneath  its  spreading  boughs  I'll  seek  repose, 
And  life  shall  be  one  long  and  happy  dream." 

The  swift-winged  years  have  sped  away, 

And  to  that  fair  and  fertile  isle  has  come 

That  stern  old  despot — Change. 

By  his  decree,  the  peace  and  quiet 

That  so  long  had  reigned,  departed; 

And  in  their  stead,  Commerce  and  Trade 

And  Strife  and  Envy  came.     The  little  brooks 

That  crept  so  softly  down  in  their  slow  course 

Toward  the  waiting  sea,  have  larger  grown: 

Great,  brawling  streams,  across  whose  floods 

Is  thrown  many  an  arch  of  stone, 

'Long  whose  banks  arises  the  clang 

Of  iron  wheels,  revolving  on  a  thousand  shafts 

That  seem  the  wrathful  muttering  of  a  giant  power. 

Upon  the  emerald  plains  where  the  wild  daisies  grew, 

Majestic  buildings  lift  their  storied  heads, 

And  lofty  towers  and  slender  church  spires  point 

Towards  the  azure  depths,  where  once  was  heard 

The  blithesome  lark  caroling  to  the  sun. 

In  yon  sequestered  cove,  where  the  lone  sea-bird  came 

To  dip  her  weary  wings,  points  many  a  towering  mast. 

From  every  verdant  vale  or  mossy  hillside  come 

The  sound  of  human  life  and  the  busy  tread  of  feet. 

At  sunset,  near  the  shadow  of  an  oak 
Whose  scathed  and  withered  limbs 
Fling  their  weird  shapes  towards  heaven, 
And  down  whose  seamed  and  rugged  sides 
The  lightning's  blighting  touch  has  fallen, 
An  aged  man  stands,  leaning  on  his  staff. 


RECOMPENSE.  91 

Upon  his  brow  are  lines  of  care  and  grief, 

But  from  his  calm,  dark  eye  there  beams  a  light 

That  speaks  of  peace,  content,  of  triumph  over  self. 

And  as  he  gazes  at  the  city  at  his  feet, 

And  notes  the  busy  throng  go  hurrying  by, 

His  mind,  awakened  to  the  thought,  goes  back 

To  the  fair  morn,  long  past,  when  he, 

A  saddened,  misanthropic  man,  upon  this  very  spot, 

The  selfish  wish  had  breathed : 

Uncared  for  here  to  live,  unwept  for  here  to  die. 

Selfish,  I  say;  for  where  the  duties,  then, 

That  come  to  each  of  us,  and  all, 

If  not  amid  the  sorrow,  sin,  and  care 

Of  this  great  world?     The  birds  of  calm, 

That  sing  on  sun-bright  days, 

Are  often  found  where  the  fierce  storm-clouds  blow; 

And  on  the  windiest  hill,  the  tiniest  flower 

Lifts  its  brave  head,  nor  heeds  not  sleet  nor  snow. 

And  shall  a  strong,  immortal  soul  grow  faint 

Because  a  few  dark  clouds  obscure  its  sun  ? 

And  thus  the  old  man  said: 
"  The  duties  which  I  fled  have  followed  me; 
And  the  very  tree  where  I  had  hoped  to  rest, 
And  idly  dream  away  my  useless  life, 
Becomes  a  blackened  tablet  of  my  blasted  hopes, 
And  I  have  only  learned,  when  youth  has  fled, 
That  joy,  content,  and  peace,  are  to  be  found 
Amid  the  world's  great  conflicts,  when  they  burn 
With  a  ten-fold  luster,  caught  from  the  beams 
Of  the  bright  star, — USEFULNESS.'* 


92  ECHOES. 


ECHOES. 

BY  REV.  DR.  CHARLES  F.  DEEMS. 

THE  marvelous  sweetness  of  echoes  is  a  phenomenon 
which  has  been  often  noticed.  In  mountainous  regions 
— in  some  parts  of  the  Alps,  for  instance — a  few  simple 
notes  drawn  from  a  shepherd's  pipe,  are  taken  up  and 
sent  from  hill  to  mount  and  from  rock  to  cliff,  and  re 
duplicated  and  intertwined  into  the  most  enchanting 
melodies. 

Such  results  cannot  be  produced  in  a  small  room  by 
any  performer  from  any  instrument.  It  is  when  he  is 
making  music  out-doors  and  for  others,  that  Nature 
brings  her  arrangements  into  a  powerful  and  musical 
orchestral  following  of  a  simple  leadership.  Then,  out 
of  five  or  six  notes  of  the  gamut,  evoked  bj^  an  unscien 
tific  soul  from  a  reed  plainer  than  Pan's,  she  makes 
choirs  of  boys  singing  in  a  cathedral,  companies  of 
nuns  chanting  in  a  convent,  and  bugle  calls,  and  all  the 
highest  capabilities  of  the  organ,  until  the  hearer  listens 
in  breathless  delight,  wondering  whether  it  is  heaven  or 
earth  that  is  thus  set  a-singing. 

As  in  everything  else,  there  is  a  moral  correspond 
ence  with  the  natural  phenomenon.  It  is  thus  with  all 
our  speeches  and  all  our  deeds.  "VYe  really  have  the 
least  good  of  those  things  which  we  do  entirely  for  our 
selves,  and  the  most  pleasure  of  those  things  which  we 
do  for  others.  We  seem  almost  utterly  to  fail  to  re 
ceive  what  we  take  to  ourselves,  and  strangely  incapable 
of  impoverishing  ourselves  by  giving  to  others.  What 
we  take  we  lose;  what  we  give  we  gain.  The  whole 
social  and  spiritual  world  seems  to  have  been  con 
structed  on  the  idea  of  echoes. 


ECHOES. 


Down  among  men's  most  materialistic  pursuits,  me 
chanical  labor  and  the  severities  of  trade  life,  this  system 
finds  perpetual  illustrations.  The  man  who  sets  himself 
to  the  work  of  conducting  a  business,  whether  large  or 
small,  for  his  own  special,  individual  gain,  soon  finds 
that  he  is  like  the  man  who  has  carried  his  instrument 
into  a  small  room,  closely  shut  and  strongly  walled, 
that  he  may  have  all  the  music  folded  down  upon  his 
own  ears.  It  soon  grows  dull,  monotonous  and  stale. 
The  man  who  strives  to  make  his  business  pecuniarily 
profitable  to  very  many  people  is  the  out-door  musician, 
to  whom  the  echoes  reply,  reduplicating  and  multiply 
ing  his  little  capital  a  thousand  fold.  He  grows  most 
rapidly  rich  who  most  speedily  sends  pecuniary  profits 
to  the  largest  number  of  other  operators. 

The  same  holds  good  for  our  pleasures.  There  are 
none  who  have  not  had  some  experience  of  hunting 
pleasure  for  themselves.  It  is  so  toilsome,  so  unpro 
ductive,  so  unsatisfactory.  So  much  so  have  men  found 
it,  that  we  compromise  by  endeavoring  to  make  the 
hunt  socially,  in  groups,  such  as  picnics  and  similar 
parties.  But  even  then  it  is  only  a  partial  success. 

Pleasure  is  like  love,  and  love  is 

"  Like  Dian's  kiss,  unasked,  unsought: 
Love  gives  itself,  and  is  not  bought." 

It  is  when  we  do  not  call  it  that  pleasure  comes.  It 
flies  the  seeker  and  seeks  the  worker.  It  is  when  we 
are  least  thoughtful  of  ourselves  and  most  intent  on 
giving  pleasure  to  others,  that  we  find  it  coming  to  us. 
It  is  not  our  own  music;  it  is  an  echo.  We  speak  a 
word;  it  comes  back  whole  sentences.  We  utter  a  note; 
from  crag  and  scar  it  comes  modulated  and  rythmic, 
the  variations  of  the  notes  wrought  into  strains. 

In  our  personal  cares  and  troubles  we  seek  the  con- 


94  ECHOES. 

solatiou  of  philosophy.  The  logic  is  sound.  Our  ar 
guments  ought  to  strengthen  and  comfort  us,  but  some 
how  they  do  not.  In  our  solitary  chamber  we  grow 
heavier  and  more  sorrowful,  reasoning  upon  our  youth 
and  strength  and  elastic  constitutions  and  troops  of 
friends.  Even  those  friends  fail  to  make  us  happier. 
They  come  to  comfort  us  and  go  away  brighter  than 
when  they,  came,  but  leaving  us  darker.  Out  of  the 
darkness  we  go  into  busy  life,  hear  of  some  stricken 
heart,  and  see  some  weak  shoulder  bending  lower  and 
lower  under  its  burdens.  We  run  to  help  the  burden- 
bearer  and  our  own  heavy  hearts  grow  lighter.  We 
speed  away  to  cheer  the  stricken  heart,  and  our  souls 
grow  musical  to  our  own  sorrowful  spirit,  and  we  hear 
in  our  own  words  deeper  and  better  things  than  the  lis 
tener  to  whom  they  are  addressed.  Earth  and  heaven 
make  musical  echoes  out  of  the  utterances  of  our  own 
hoarse  voices. 

Therefore  let  us  go  out  under  the  open  sky,  among 
the  grand  mountains,  which  were  made  for  other  things 
but  which  make  echoes,  and  whatever  good,  brave,  kind 
word  we  speak  to  others  shall  return  laden  with  empha 
sis  of  delight  to  our  own  souls.  If  we  go  selfishly 
asking,  "Do  you  love  me?''  the  playful  elfins  of  the 
echoes  will  begin  their  tantalizing  begging  of  "Love 
me!  love  me!"  But  if  a  poor  fainting  heart  lies  at  our 
feet  and  we  shower  down  tenderness  in  words,  saying, 
"I  love  you,"  a  thousand  musical  spirits  of  the  air  will 
peal  their  manifold  assurances  on  our  ears,  each  saying 
iu  its  own  tone,  "I  love  you!  I  love  you!  I  love  your 

Let  us  waken  the  echoes. 


MY    LITTLE    SISTERS.  95 

MY  LITTLE  SISTEKS. 

BY  FRANCIS  ALEXANDER  DURIVAGE. 

GAZING  intent  in  memory's  magic  glass, 
I  see  two  lovely  childish  figures  pass— - 
Lucy  and  Annie — images  most  dear, 
Tho'  lost  to  earthly  sight  for  many  a  year. 
Brief  in  this  life  was  their  allotted  space, 
To  glad  our  hearts  with  purity  and  grace. 
God  gave  and  took,  and  to  his  angel  host 
Added  the  treasure  that  we  prized  the  most. 
Sinless  and  white,  each  blessed  little  heart 
Heard  the  Divine  permission  to  depart. 
As  I  recall  the  little  girls,  'tis  given 
To  picture  their  unclouded  bliss  in  Heaven; 
Their  eyes  uudimmed  by  even  childish  tears, 
God  for  their  Father,  angels  for  their  peers. 
Perpetual  flowers  around  their  footsteps  spring, 
"Where  birds  of  paradise  are  on  the  wing; 
And  in  the  ever-during  summer  days 
Music  is  one  unceasing  song  of  praise. 
The  vision  passes,  to  recur  again 
With  power  to  banish  earthly  woe  and  pain. 
My  little  sisters!  we  shall  meet  again. 


Through  some  blunder  of  my  agent,  I  have  but  just  seen 
your  letter.  I  ask  your  pardon  for  what  must  have  seemed  great  rude 
ness,  while  I  beg  you  to  believe  there  is  only  sincere  interest.  I  send 
you,  hereto  appended,  a  sentiment  which,  I  hope,  may  reach  you  in 
time,  and  I  am,  with  best  wishes, 

Faithfully  yours, 

ANNA  E.  DICKINSON. 

THE  world  belongs  to  those  who  take  it,  not  to  those 
who  wish  for  it,  or  cry  for  it,  or  beg  for  it;  but  to  those 
who  put  strong  hands  upon  it,  and  make  it  their  own. 


96 


BE     CONTENT. 


BE  CONTENT. 

BY  MRS.  HORACE  A.  DEMING. 

SAY  not  life  is  made  of  sorrow, 
Say  not  man  was  made  to  mourn, 

Unacknowledged  blessings,  daily, 
Greet  our  steps  at  every  turn. 

Flowers  bloom  by  brook  and  way-side, 
G-em  the  meads  and  grace  the  dells, 

Freighting  all  the  air  with  incense 
From  their  honey-laden  cells. 

Barefoot  girl  may  twine  at  pleasure, 
'Mid  her  tangled,  sun-burnt  hair, 

Garlands  fresh,  with  dew-drops  gleaming; 
Nature's  jewels  Queens  might  wear. 

Down  the  fern-clad  mountain,  glancing 
Over  cool,  green  moss  and  brake, 

Crystal  streams  are  ever  dancing, 
Weary  travelers'  thirst  to  slake. 

Every  crested  wave  of  ocean 

Comes  with  Neptune's  wealth  replete, 
Casting  tinted  shells  and  mosses, 

Pearls  and  corals,  at  our  feet. 

Song-birds  everywhere  make  music; 

Glorious  sunbeams  round  us  fall; 
He  who  notes  the  sparrow's  progress 

Strews  his  bounties  over  all. 

Happiness  is  not  exclusive, 

Of  no  nation,  rank  or  grade; 
Analyzed,  its  sum  is  proven 

Of  the  veriest  trifles  made. 


OMNIPOTENCE.  97 

Are  you  wretched,  poor  and  friendless  ? 

Look  on  those  more  wretched  still, 
Then  give  thanks  to  Him  whose  mercy 

Saved  you  from  some  greater  ill. 

What  though  fortune  frown  upon  you, 

Though  she  smile  on  others  more! 
Sink  not  down,  an  abject  craven, 

Her  caprices  to  deplore. 

Few  who  join  her  race  are  winners, 

Many  fail  to  reach  the  goal; 
If  you  may  not  gain  life's  prizes, 

Be  content. to  act  your  role. 

Cheerfully,  with  trust  unswerving, 

Take  the  comfort  to  your  heart: 
'Tis  a  far,  all-seeing  wisdom 

That  allots  to  man  his  part. 

To  insure  a  generous  harvest, 

With  what  care  the  soil  is  tilled! 
Not  your  place  in  life  is  reckoned, 

But  the  way  in  which  'tis  filled. 


OMNIPOTENCE. 

BY  PE.OF.  SAMUEL  S.  HALDEMAN. 

(Translation  from  the  Greek.) 

THE  day  and  night  proclaim  thy  praise; 

The  earth  thou  deck'st  with  flowers, 
Thy  stars  through  ether  send  their  rays, 

And  planets  hymn  thy  powers. 

Thy  fingers  shake  the  solid  ground, 

Thy  hand  restrains  the  brine, 
Thy  breath  drives  star-light  from  its  bound, 

Thy  nod  makes  heav'n  incline 


98  A    BEAUTIFUL     LIFE. 

A  BEAUTIFUL  LIFE. 

BY  REV.  DR.  BENJAMIN  W.  DWIGHT. 

LIFE  is  the  wonder  of  all  wonders  in  the  created  uni 
verse.  All  physical  things,  however  minute  or  gorgeouSj 
find  their  final  completeness  in  this  one  marvelous 
mystery.  It  is  easy,  indeed,  even  for  a  child,  to  under 
stand  what  life  is  in  its  aspects  and  effects;  but  not  for 
the  wisest  philosophers  to  define  with  exactness  what  it 
actually  is,  in  its  own  nature.  Any  one  can  readily  de 
scribe  its  elements  and  issues;  but  who  shall  describe 
its  essence  ?  It  is,  wherever  seen,  to  whatever  eye  be 
holding  it,  "a  thing  of  beauty"  in  its  own  immediate 
and  continuous  self -presentation ;  and  all  forms  of  love 
liness  have  taken  on  their  determinate  shape  from  its 
moulding  grasp  upon  their  constituent  elements,  and  its 
active  force  astir  within  them. 

And  all  living  things  imply  in  their  very  existence 
some  source  superior  to  themselves  in  time  and  power. 
They  are  all  of  an  organized,  harmonious  conformation, 
part  with  part,  beginning,  middle  and  end,  ever  run 
ning,  by  easy  processes  of  transformation,  into  and  out 
of  one  another.  Design  is  everywhere  manifest,  and 
skill  shows  itself  in  the  mutually  combined  and  sym 
metrical  ordering  of  wonderfully  many  inter-dependent 
details.  And  it  is  a  great,  bright,  inspiring  truth,  per 
vading  the  whole  array  of  all  visible  things,  that  their 
evident  uses,  and  therefore  evidently-planned  designs, 
are  conspicuously  beneficent  and  benevolent.  The  uni 
verse  is  indeed  one  vast  whole,  as  the  word  universe 
implies  in  itself — formed  by  One  Mighty  Hand  to  one 
single,  great  and  good  end;  and  it  is  a  rounded  aggre 
gate  of  beauty,  as  it  seemed  to  the  wondering  eye  of 
even  heathen  Greece.  Life,  like  power,  implies  mind — 


A    BEAUTIFUL    LIFE.  99 

mind  to  will,  to  undertake,  to  contrive,  to  control,  to 
bless. 

In  the  varied  forms  of  life  many  different  expressions 
of  thought  are  possible,  in  specialties  of  constructive 
skill,  as  also  in  outward  capabilities  of  use.  Vegetable 
life  bears  light  in  every  part  of  the  fullness  of  its  bloom. 
It  is,  in  every  portion  of  its  fabric,  a-  product  of  the 
light,  woven  of  sunbeams,  in  the  secret  processes  of 
Nature,  and  the  very  distillation,  in  hue  and  texture,  of 
their  effluence.  Life  is,  wherever  seen,  full  of  the  en 
ergy  of  advancing  strength  in  itself,  and  full,  at  the 
same  time,  of  the  energy  of  most  inspiring  suggestions 
to  every  beholder;  while  decay  and  death  wear,  con- 
trarily,  at  once,  wherever  they  anywhere  appear,  entirely 
opposite  aspects. 

All  the  activities  of  Nature  are  so  stirred  and  stayed 
by  the  Great  Ruler  of  the  universe,  that,  whatever  pre 
vious  forms  of  life  have  answered  their  best  possible 
uses,  or  employed  to  the  full  their  functions,  large  or 
limited,  in  some  useful  way  appointed  for  them,  not 
only  soon  revert,  as  if  by  the  compulsion  of  an  inward 
necessity  of  their  own,  to  their  original  elements;  but 
are  speedily  caught  up  also  into  new  and  attractive  com 
binations  of  growing  forces,  vegetable  or  animal,  for 
some  better  use,  or  some  brighter  or  broader  self-mani 
festation. 

Of  all  living  forms,  the  perfection  for  beauty  and 
wonder  and  power  is  the  human  body.  The  human 
form,  the  human  face,  the  human  eye  and  the  human 
smile,  are,  each  and  all,  unequaled  by  anything  else  of 
like  sort  to  be  named  under  the  sun.  " Lord!  what  is 
man,  that  Thou  art  mindful  of  him  !"  How  great  are 
his  endowments  from  above!  How  grand  the  divine 
proportions  of  his  being!  columnar!  temple-like!  "Know 


100  A    BEAUTIFUL    LIFE. 

ye  not,"  saith  Paul,    "that  ye  are  the  temple  of   the 
Holy  Ghost?" 

Man,  standing  erect  upon  the  earth,  and  looking  forth 
on  the  creation  around  him,  or  upon  the  skies  over  his 
head,  is,  in  himself,  an  object  of  commanding  beauty; 
but  much  more  when  moving,  fixed  in  thought  and 
strong  in  will,  over  the  face  of  the  world,  in  search  of 
its  riches  of  wisdom  and  knowledge.  When  seen  vigor 
ously  employed  with  his  intellect,  and  obtaining  the 
results  of  well-bestowed  endeavor  for  something  high 
and  exalting,  he  rises  to  a  new  demonstration  of  beauty, 
in  a  higher  sphere  of  presentation  to  the  eye.  Well 
said  Humboldt,  with  equal  simplicity  and  terseness  of 
expression,  ''The  finest  fruit  that  earth  holds  up  to  its 
Maker's  eye,  is  a  man,  a  true  man." 

The  noblest  form  of  manifestation  of  which  man  is 
capable  in  himself,  and  the  highest  exhibition  ever 
made  of  anj7thing  human,  is,  for  its  own  essential  quali 
ties  of  either  temporary  excellence  or  permanent  desir 
ableness,  a  beautiful  life,  beautiful  for  its  bright,  moral 
characteristics.  Here,  every  energy  of  action,  every 
sentiment  of  honor,  every  soaring  impulse  of  the  soul, 
every  faculty  of  contrivance,  every  element  of  endur 
ance,  every  form  of  hopeful,  cumulative  enterprise  and 
experience,  finds  full  scope  of  employment  and  a  free 
opportunity  for  any  separate  or  combined  degree  of 
labor  bestowed  upon  their  exercise. 

In  respect  to  the  thoughts  and  aims  and  deeds  that 
make  up  a  truly  beautiful  life,  all  of  earth  stand  alike 
in  privilege,  without  reference  to  varieties  of  personal 
condition  or  even  of  personal  endowment.  Manhood, 
in  its  highest  forms  of  moral  principle  and  purpose,  is 
attainable  by  all,  and  in  forms  that  are  quiet  and  lowly 
as  truly  as  in  those  that  are  full  of  conspicuity  or  of  ex- 


A    BEAUTIFUL    LIFE.  101 

citement.  Nowhere  is  virtue  more  beautiful  than  when 
unostentatious,  and  when  manifestly  genuine,  uncalcu- 
lating,  and  uniform  in  its  demonstrations  of  a  stable 
existence  in  the  character,  and  of  vigorous,  persistent 
life  in  action. 

The  real  poetry  of  earthly  experience  has  always 
coursed  mostly  through  lowly  vales  and  into  little  silent 
nooks,  away  from  glitter  and  glare,  and  the  empty  blare 
of  attending  trumpets,  and  from  noisy  vociferators  of 
whatever  kind. 

Many  of  the  coveted  riches  of  earth  are,  when  long 
sought  and  at  last  obtained,  quite  unsatisfying  in  them 
selves,  and  disappointing  to  their  zealous  pursuer.  But 
" virtue  is  its  own  reward."  The  busy  toiler  for  its 
wealth  of  goodness  is,  while  thinking  only  of  others, 
the  most  rewarded  of  all  in  what  he  obtains. 

A  morally  beautiful  life  is  the  highest  contribution 
that  any  one  can  make  to  the  good  of  the  world.  It  is 
itself  immortal.  Here,  in  its  ever-newly  unfolding 
beauties  of  life  and  light,  is  to  be  found  the  true  and 
only  end  of  all  wealth,  and  talent,  and  enterprise,  of  all 
worthy  hope  and  effort,  of  all  genius  and  art,  and  of  all 
piety  and  prayer. 

To  such  an  inspiring  goal  it  is  pleasant  to  point,  and 
to  point  joyously,  the  orphan  children  of  the  world. 
Without  father  or  mother,  and  often  without  hope  or 
help  from  earth,  feeling  themselves  deserted  and  weak, 
and  surrounded  by  darkness,  they  are  yet  not  without 
light  from  above;  there  is  help  in  God;  the  light  of 
hope  may  burn  steady  and  true  for  them  in  the  depths 
of  their  own  souls  as  the  light  of  immortal  truth  and  of 
immortal  youth.  Let  them  ever  keep  faith  in  God, 
and  in  their  own  convictions  of  what  is  right,  and  best, 
and  true;  and  let  them  ever  keep  moving  towards  what- 


102  A    BEAUTIFUL    LIFE. 

ever  they  can  anywhere  see  that  is  good  in  itself,  and 
striving  earnestly  towards  what  is  above  them.  Those 
who  dwell  in  palaces  of  light,  and  have  all  that  heart 
and  hope  can  seize  of  fancied  good,  can  do  no  better, 
or  achieve  any  higher  success  in  life,  after  all,  than  the 
humblest  and  weakest  man  to  be  found  upon  his 
Maker's  footstool.  The  differences  of  men  in  moral 
position  are  far  less  than  the  seeming  shows  of  earthly 
advantage  would  indicate. 

Let  then  the  forlorn  of  earth  pick  up  courage,  and 
struggle  ever  bravely  onwards  arid  upwards  for  some 
thing  better  than  earth  ever  yields  them;  and  let  the 
prosperous  and  envied  classes  be  modest,  and  consid 
erate,  and  kind,  when  they  remember  how  much  of  all 
that  marks  their  peculiar  history  cannot  possibly  last  a 
moment  longer  than  it  is  available  for  some  mere  pass 
ing  use,  and  that  they  will  be  called  in  the  end  to  a 
strict  account  for  the  moral  ends  and  qualities  of  that 
use. 

There  are  three  great  words  of  faith  which  lie  at  the 
basis  of  every  worthy,  and  every  beautiful,  earthly  life : 
the  love  of  Truth,  the  love  of  God,  and  the  love  of  Man. 
The  beauty  of  even  the  Divine  character  is  its  absolute 
expression,  at  all  times,  without  the  least  flaw  or  fail 
ure,  of  perfect  devotion  of  feeling  and  action  to  the  dic 
tates  of  exact  truth.  Any  human  character  that  has 
soundness  in  it,  or  grandeur,  or  essential  holiness,  de 
rives  the  inexpressible  charm  of  such  a  ravishing  pos 
session  from  the  high  measure  of  its  conformity,  real  or 
supposed,  to  the  claims  of  pure  truth  as  the  rule  and 
rhythm  of  its  being. 

And  as  for  "the  love  of  God  shed  abroad  in  the 
heart,"  as  the  life  and  power  of  every  sentiment  and  de 
sire  of  the  soul,  how  great  is  its  uplifting  power  upou 


A    BEAUTIFUL    LIFE.  103 

one's  whole  consciousness  of  the  glory  of  existence 
under  Him  and  for  Him !  This  is  the  grandest  senti 
ment,  for  honor  and  power,  that  can  take  possession  of 
any  finite  being;  and  wonderful  for  joyousness,  deep 
and  abiding,  is  the  sense  of  its  presence  in  any  heart 
where  it  reigns,  as  its  one  great  ruling  passion. 

And  with  the  love  of  truth  and  of  God  as  the  perma 
nently  ruling  forces  of  any  heart  and  life,  no  other  holy 
passion  of  the  soul  is  needed  to  give  to  any  mortal 
spirit  its  full  complement  of  immortal  wealth  of  thought 
and  sentiment  than  the  love  of  man  as  man.  The  full 
sense  of  the  universal  brotherhood  of  the  race  in  the 
heart,  as  one  of  its  three  final,  absolute,  and  mutually 
inter-dependent  motor-forces,  in  all  thought,  all  pur 
pose,  and  all  effort,  gives  such  sweetness  to  personal 
experience,  and  dignity  to  personal  character,  and  real 
significance  to  life,  as  nothing  else  in  its  absence  has 
any  power  to  impart.  Blessed  is  he  among  men  whose 
heart  is  filled  to  the  full  with  these  holy  tides  of  thought 
— the  love  of  Truth,  the  love  of  God,  and  the  love  of 
Man! 


*  *  *  IF  you  would  be  great,  revere  and  imitate, 
like  the  old  Greeks,  illustrious  men.  So  far  from  depre 
cating  hero-worship,  I  would  cultivate  it  and  encourage 
it.  No  man  has  ever  been  a  hero  who  was  not  first  a 
hero-worshipper.  "Water  never  rises  above  its  source. 
*  b  5  "  41 '  :  '*••*»  # 

I  find  that  they  build  their  houses  in  New  York,  and 
in  Europe  also,  seven  and  even  ten  stories  high;  yet  I 
doubt,  after  all,  if  they  are  much  nearer  to  heaven  than 
we  in  our  wigwams  of  Oregon. 

JOAQUIN  MlLLEE. 


104  MODERN    LOVE-STORY. 

MODEKN  LOYE-STOEY. 

BY  "ELi  PERKINS.*' 
CHAPTER  I. 

LOVE'S      SACBIFICE. 

"ELi!" 

"Yes,  Julia,"  I  said,  as  I  joined  my  sweetheart,  while 
she  stood  in  the  twilight  watching  the  flowers  in  the 
conservatory. 

"You  told  me  yesterday,  Eli,  that  you  loved  me," 
she  continued. 

"Yes,  I  believe  I  did." 

"  And  you  have  been  calling  on  me,  and  keeping  the 
other  beaux  away,  for  four  years." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  suppose  so." 

"And  now  you.  say  that  you  are  poor,  and  love  me 
too  well  to  take  me  from  my  nice  home." 

"It  is  all  true,  Julia." 

"  Well,  Eli,  poverty  shall  never  separate  us,"  contin 
ued  the  beautiful  girl.  '  Love  wants  not  money — filthy 
lucre.  Love  feeds  on  love.  Love  does  not  want  a  pal 
ace.  Love  dwells,  the  poet  says,  in  the  humble  cot." 

"Yes,  Julia." 

"  Then  let  it  be  so  with  our  love,"  pursued  the  brave 
girl.  "  Poverty  shall  not  separate  us.  I  care  not  for 
wealth;  I  could  live  in  a  garret  with  the  man  I  loved, 
if—" 

"If  what,  Julia?"  I  asked,  as  I  stood  ready  to  throw 
my  arms  around  her  and  call  her  my  own — "  if  what, 
darling?" 

"  Why,  I  could  live  in  a  garret  with  the  man  I  loved, 
if  it  had  a  nice  elevator,  a  grand  piano,  and  I  could 
have  my  quail  on  toast  sent  in  from  the  Palace  Hotel; 
and  — " 


MODERN    LOVE-STORY.  105 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE    PROPOSAL. 

* '  Julia ! "  I  interrupted  my  beloved,  two  weeks  after 
the  conversation  narrated  in  the  previous  chapter;  "I 
have  something  confidential  to  tell  you." 

"What  is  it,  Eli?"  she  asked,  in  a  low  silvery  voice 
— a  kind  of  German  silvery  voice,  as  she  raised  her  lus 
trous  eyes  upon  me. 

"  Well,  Julia,  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  sometimes 
think  I  might  love  you.  Now,  do  you  love  me  ?  do  you?" 

"  Yes,  Eli,  I  do  love  you, — you  know  I  do! "  and  then 
she  threw  her  alabaster  arms  around  my  neck. 

"I  am  very  glad,  Julia,"  I  said,  "for  I  like—" 

"Oh,  Eli!"  she  interrupted  me  in  sobs,  "say  on!" 

"I  say  I  am  very  glad,  Julia, — very  glad  that  you 
love  me,  because " 

"Because  what?"  gasped  my  beloved  convulsively. 

"  Because  I  like  to  be  loved,  Julia!" 

"Well?" 

But  I  never  said  another  word. 

CHAPTER  III. 

HAPPINESS   AND    BLISS. 

Time  passed  on. 

Six  weeks  after  the  affecting  incident  just  related,  my 
beloved  grasped  my  hand  distractedly,  looked  into  my 
face,  and  as  the  tears  of  gratitude  and  love  ran  down  her 
beautiful  cheeks,  she  said : 

"Eli,  such  a  warm-hearted,  such  a  devoted  man  as 
you,  could  make  me  so  happy  if  you  chose  to — ' 

"How  could  I  make  you  happy,  my  beloved?"  I 
asked,  my  face  suffused  with  smiles. 

"How  could  you  make  me  happy,  darling?  how? 
why,  by  keeping  away  from  me,  Eli;  by  leaving " 


106  MODERN    LOVE-STORY. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

LOVE'S   FINAL   PROPOSAL. 

Time  still  continued  to  elapse.  Twenty-one  years 
after  the  tearful  scene  described  in  the  last  chapter,  I 
met  my  beloved  Julia  again.  I  called  on  her  at  her 
beautiful  home  in  Oakland.  Neither  of  us  had  married. 
Our  meeting  was  very  touching.  I  thought  I  saw  the 
old  love  in  her  sweet,  mournful  eyes.  I  thought  I  saw 
the  old  affection  swell  her  heaving  bosom.  We  each 
then  and  there  confessed  our  love  anew.  I  called  on 
her  every  day  afterwards  for  months. 

One  evening  I  was  on  the  point  of  proposing  again — 
honestly  proposing;  but  my  beloved  anticipated  me. 

As  I  entered  the  room,  her  slender  frame  shook  con 
vulsively,  and  then  she  spoke: 

"You  know,  Mr.  Perkins,"  she  commenced,  "that 
this  is  leap  year, — that  this  is  a  time  when  a  lady  can 
propose  to  a  gentleman."  And  then  she  took  my  trem 
bling  hand  in  hers,  and  looked  at  me,  her  eyes  eloquent 
with  girlish  emotion. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  struggling  to  withdraw  my  hand. 
"Well,  Eli,  you  know  you've  been  out  with  me  a  good 
deal  lately." 

"Yes,57  I  said;  and  I  felt  the  crimson  come  to  my 
cheeks. 

"And  while  I  have  been  too  happy  going  out  with 
you  all  winter,  I  feel — ,  I  feel — ,  oh !  I  don't  know  how 
to  say  what  I  want  to."  And  then  this  innocent  child 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"Do  not  fear  my  answer,  beautiful  one,"  I  responded. 
I  also  said,  "I  hope,  Julia,  your  intentions  are  honor 
able;  for  I  am  a  poor,  lone  orphan,  and  my  friends  are 
far,  far  away." 

Then  I  asked  her  to  tell  me  what  troubled  her. 


MODEBN    LOVE-STORY.  107 

"Oh,  Eli,  it  is  love,"  she  replied,  and  then  twirled 
her  jeweled  fingers.  • 

"For  whom  is  this  love,  darling?  Do  not  fear  my 
answer." 

"Well,"  she  rejoined,  "Hove—,  I  love—" 

"Who  do  you  love,  Julia ? " 

"Well,  I  love  Augustus  Williams,  to  whom  I  am  en 
gaged;"  and  then  her  hot  tears  fell  thick  and  fast  on  my 
shirt-bosom. 

"Well,  what  have  you  to  say  to  me?"  I  asked. 

"  Well,  Eli,  father  and  Augustus  said  I  had  better  see 
you,  and  propose " 

"Oh,  darling,  propose  away!  take  your  Eli!  never 
mind  father !  I  am  thine " 

"  No;  father  and  Augustus  thought  I'd  better  see  you, 
and  propose — ,  propose — ,  p — r — o — p — o — s — e  that 
you  don't  come  here  any  more." 

Base  flirt!     I  left  her— oh,  I  left  her! 


:     I  cannot  think  of  anything  that  will  serve  better  for  com 
ment,  out  of  my  own  writings,  than  the  last  verse  of  "The  Chambered 
Nautilus,"  which  you  will  find  below. 
Yours  very  truly, 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

BUILD  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul, 

As  the  swift  seasons  roll ! 

Leave  thy  low- vaulted  past! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea ! 


108  OUB    CAMP    IN    SIXTY-FOUB. 

OUK  CAMP  IN  '64. 

BY  ROBERT  FERRAL. 

IT  was  a  pretty  location,  for  a  sage-brush  town;  and, 
like  all  new  mining  camps,  bad  big  prospects  ahead. 
A  baker's  dozen  of  frame  buildings  on  either  side  of  a 
brawling  stream  of  pure,  sparkling  water;  half  a  hun 
dred  tents  and  cabins  on  the  hillsides  and  around  the 
more  pretentious  structures  of  the  main  street;  a  wild 
stretch  of  sage-brush  country  in  front,  and  a  steep  and 
towering  mountain  immediately  behind.  Fill  in  with 
four  or  five  saloons,  a  blacksmith's  shop,  the  recorder's 
office,  and  a  store  or  two,  and  the  picture  will  look  some 
thing  like  what  the  writer  remembers  of  the  general  ap 
pearance  of  Montgomery,  Mono  County,  in  1864. 

What  a  lively  little  camp  it  was!  No  foolishness  about 
the  good  people  of  Montgomery.  Nearly  all  had  passed 
through  the  red-hot  days  of  Aurora,  and  were  not  in 
the  habit  of  going  to  law  to  settle  their  personal  differ 
ences  about  life  and  property.  The  first  serious  trouble 
grew  out  of  a  very  natural  desire  to  get  the  best  corner 
lots  in  the  rising  young  city. 

Of  course  they  would  be  immensely  valuable  in  the 
near  future,  when  the  fame  of  the  "  Golconda,"  "  Ala 
bama,"  and  other  rich  mines,  had  startled  the  money 
centers  of  the  world.  No  writs  of  possession  were  sued 
out;  no  actions  of  ejectment  commenced.  Every  man 
who  wanted  a  corner  lot  simply  planted  himself  and 
battery  on  the  desired  spot.  Naturally  enough,  as  there 
were  not  sufficient  corner  lots  to  go  round,  quite  a 
number  of  enterprising  citizens  got  hurt.  The  county, 
however,  was  not  put  to  the  expense  of  carrying  on 
criminal  actions  in  the  name  of  the  people. 

Bridgeport,  the  seat  of  justice,  was  many  miles  away; 


OUR    CAMP    IN    SIXTY-FOUR.  109 

no  such  thing  as  a  jail  had  been  thought  of  in  the  new 
camp;  and  only  two  legal  lights  had  hung  out  their  pro 
fessional  shingles  as  disturbers  of  the  public  peace. 
Under  these  circumstances,  as  may  be  supposed,  the 
practice  of  the  law  was  not  very  extensive,  being  con 
fined  to  a  single  tribunal,  namely,  the  Justice  of  the 
Peace,  who  tried  everything,  from  assault  and  battery 
to  horse-stealing  and  murder.  The  miners,  after  a 
time,  got  tired  of  losing  work  by  going  to  Montgomery 
to  do  jury  duty,  and  insisted  on  the  Justice,  litigants, 
and  the  two  attorneys  coming  to  them.  Thus  it  became 
a  common  sight  to  see  those  distinguished  disciples  of 
Blackstone,  together  with  the  honorable  Court,  shoulder 
their  blankets  and  set  out  for  some  part  of  the  district 
where  a  fresh  batch  of  jurors  could  be  coaxed  into  serv 
ice.  And  such  trials!  Well,  there  was  justice  in  the 
rough;  perhaps  more  of  it  than  is  sometimes  found 
under  more  favorable  conditions;  but  everything  had  to 
be  conducted  on  a  strictly  democratic  basis.  The  Court 
being  held  in  a  saloon  or  country  store,  it  was  not 
deemed  a  contempt  for  a  juryman,  when  dry,  to  stop 
the  proceedings  until  all  hands  could  take  a  drink;  nor 
was  it  very  remarkable  for  a  witness  to  draw  his  six- 
shooter  and  sustain  an  objection  to  an  unpleasant  ques 
tion.  It  was  remarked,  however,  that  one  of  the  attor 
neys,  a  mild-mannered  little  gentleman,  entertained 
such  a  profound  respect  for  judicial  proceedings,  that 
he  never  permitted  himself  to  shoot  anybody  in  Court, 
although  outside  more  than  one  boisterous  litigant  or 
obstreperous  witness  fell  before  the  sharp  crack  of  his 
unerring  pistol.  On  such  occasions,  lawyer  No.  2 
always  came  to  the  assistance  of  his  professional  brother, 
and  together  they  managed  to  obviate  legal  difficulties 
very  comfortably. 


110  OUE    CAMP    IN    SIXTY-FOUK. 

The  mines  of  the  new  camp  were  rich  beyond  all 
question.  High  up  the  steep  mountain-side — so  steep 
as  to  make  ifc  necessary  to  ascend  by  a  winding  path — 
the  pure  virgin  silver,  from  hundreds  of  narrow  veins, 
glittered  and  sparkled  in  the  sun.  The  writer  more 
than  once  cut  out  pieces  of  the  precious  metal  with  a 
common  jack-knife.  A  sack  of  the  rock  was  almost 
equal  in  value  to  its  weight  in  half  dollars.  And  yet, 
owing  to  the  peculiar  character  of  the  base  metal  run 
ning  through  the  rock,  making  it  exceedingly  clificult  to 
extract  the  silver,  coupled  with  the  narrowness  of  the 
veins  and  their  inaccessibility,  hard  times  fell  upon 
hopeful  and  enthusiastic  Montgomery.  The  shipment 
of  ore  to  Swansea,  and  other  foreign  parts,  for  reduc 
tion,  was  discontinued  as  too  slow;  and  everybody  anx 
iously  discussed  the  practicability  of  successful  smelt 
ing  nearer  home.  Furnace  after  furnace  was  built, 
tested,  and  abandoned.  The  hearts  of  the  Montgom- 
eryites  rose  and  fell  with  each  experiment.  Meanwhile, 
winter  was  fast  approaching,  provisions  getting  scarce, 
and  money  becoming  a  thing  of  remembrance  only. 

At  the  eleventh  hour,  when  gloom  was  settling  like  a 
cloud  over  the  little  town,  a  rumor  spread  rapidly  of 
the  arrival  of  a  German  metallurgist,  who  was  able  to 
smelt  Montgomery  ore  with  the  utmost  ease.  All  the 
learned  German  needed  was  the  right  kind  of  a  furnace, 
built  on  his  own  plan  and  under  his  personal  super 
vision.  Great  was  the  excitement  that  followed  his 
advent.  Nothing  else  \vas  talked  about.  He  was  the 
lion  of  the  hour.  Emissaries  were  dispatched  in  hot 
haste  to  Aurora  to  raise  the  requisite  cash.  By  dint  of 
tremendous  exertions  the  coin  was  procured,  and  the 
erection  of  the  wonderful  works  began.  Secrecy  and 
mystery  enshrouded  the  enterprise  from  its  inception, 


OUR    CAMP    IN    SIXTY-FOUR.  Ill 

which  only  fanned  the  fire  of  public  interest;  and  when 
at  last  it  was  announced  that  in  a  few  days  the  German 
scientist  would  be  ready  to  make  his  first  run  of  silver 
bricks,  the  excitement  became  painfully  intense.  Finally 
the  eventful  day  arrived.  The  whole  camp  turned  out. 
Men,  women  and  children  crowded  around  the  furnace. 
Even  the  Pi-Utes  rallied  in  strong  force.  A  corps  of 
citizens  acted  as  police  to  keep  back  the  multitude  who 
pressed  forward  to  watch,  with  anxious  eyes,  the  emi 
nent  foreigner  and  his  grimy  assistants.  At  length, 
amid  breathless  expectation,  a  stream  of  the  clear,  beau 
tiful  white  metal  was  run  into  the  mould,  and  soon 
came  forth  the  first  silver  brick  of  Montgomery  District. 
A  scene  of  wild  tumult  ensued.  Cheer  after  cheer  rent 
the  air;  speeches  were  made;  toasts  drunk;  and  the 
honored  Teuton  carried  in  triumph  on  the  shoulders  of 
the  happy  miners.  Joy  reigned  supreme  the  remainder 
of  the  clay  and  all  through  the  night. 

Everybody  felt  as  if  his  fortune  was  made.  All  were 
rich  in  the  future,  and  now  saw  the  near  realization  of 
their  fondest  hopes  and  brightest  dreams.  Alas!  how 
suddenly  and  cruelly  came  bitter  disappointment !  Next 
day,  when  the  excitement  had  cooled  down,  the  " glori 
ous  silver  brick"  wras  discovered  to  be  nothing  more  nor 
less  than  common  lead!  As  might  well  be  imagined,  in 
dignation  ran  high,  and  the  outraged  populace,  fierce 
and  desperate,  sought  the  rascally  German  in  all  direc 
tions.  Fortunately  for  his  miserable  carcass,  the  scien 
tific  humbug  had  stolen  away  in  the  darkness  of  night, 
and  was  out  of  reach  when  the  shameful  fraud  came  to 
light. 

Winter  laid  its  cold,  white  hand  on  the  young  camp. 
Work  was  suspended;  men  went  shivering  about;  hope 
gave  way  to  despair.  WTe  shall  not  soon  forget  the  long, 


112  OUR    CAMP    IN    SIXTY-FOUR. 

dreary  months  that  followed.  The  supply  of  "grub" 
ran  short,  the  gnawings  of  hunger  began  to  be  felt,  and 
no  relief  appeared  at  hand.  The  most  sanguine  grew 
gloomy  and  despondent.  Nobody  came  for  corner-lots 
now.  To  add  to  the  miseries  of  the  situation,  an  Indian 
war,  which  had  broken  out  some  time  before,  seriously 
interrupted  communication  between  Montgomery  and 
Aurora.  Nevertheless,  many  preferred  risking  their 
scalps  on  the  road,  to  taking  the  chances  of  starvation 
in  camp. 

One  day  a  band  of  roving  Pi-Utes,  emboldened  by  the 
evident  distress  in  the  new  district,  camped  on  an  ad 
joining  hill,  and  sent  in  a- delegation  of  "braves"  to  see 
how  matters  stood.  The  Indians  were  meddlesome  and 
insolent;  the  whites  obliging  and  peaceable.  Finally, 
one  of  the  chiefs  proposed  a  nice  little  arrangement  for 
the  settlement  of  existing  difficulties  by  a  fair  tight. 

"How  many  white  men  want  to  fight  Indian?  One 
white  man,  one  Indian?" 

Strange  to  say,  considering  the  belligerent  character 
of  the  population,  nobody  wanted  to  fight.  All  had  a 
kindly  regard  for  Indians  in  general,  and  Pi-Utes  in 
particular.  A  few  months  before,  such  a  proposition 
would  have  been  eagerly  accepted,  and  viewed  in  the 
light  of  a  frolic;  but  now,  cold,  hunger,  disappointment 
and  hard  times  generally,  had  taken  the  fight  out  of 
many  a  roystering  fellow. 

It  is  due  to  the  Montgomeryites  to  say,  however,  that 
at  the  time  mentioned,  most  of  the  men  belonging  to  the 
town  were  off  on  an  expedition  against  the  Indians  in 
the  Owen's  river  country,  and  had  taken  with  them 
nearly  every  gun,  pistol  and  knife  in  the  place,  leaving 
the  few  men  in  camp  comparatively  unarmed  and  de 
fenseless. 


OUR    CAMP    IN    SIXTY-FOUR.  113 

Christmas  came,  with  its  flood  of  golden  memories, 
but  brought  no  gladness  nor  good  cheer  to  illie  snow 
bound  denizens  of  Montgomery.  The  writer  smiles, 
after  the  lapse  of  fourteen  years,  over  che  remembrance 
of  a  deep-laid  plot  to  secure  a  Christmas  dinner.  One 
Thompson,  who  was  the  owner  of  a  pack-train,  had 
among  his  long-eared  animals  a  young  and  sober-look 
ing  little  donkey,  the  pride  and  pet  of  his  tribe.  This 
solemn  and  tender  beast  of  burden,  it  was  deliberately 
resolved,  should  be  captured  in  the  dead  of  night  on 
Christmas  Eve,  and  immediately  barbecued  for  a  big 
dinner  on  the  following  day.  Somehow  our  murderous 
intentions  reached  the  ears  of  Thompson,  the  young 
jack  disappeared,  and  we  lost  our  Christmas  "blow 
out."  This  may  appear  now  to  be  a  laughing  matter. 
It  was  not  so  then.  Strong  men  shed  tears  of  bitter 
disappointment,  and  swore  vengeance  against  the  traitor 
who  had  betrayed  them  in  their  hour  of  need. 

Spring  brought  better  weather,  and  also  a  new  sensa 
tion.  Another  rich  mining  district  had  been  discovered 
about  forty  or  fifty  miles  distant.  Some  went  there; 
some  returned  to  Aurora,  and  others  struck  out  for  parts 
unknown.  Montgomery  was  left  an  almost  deserted  vil 
lage.  The  towering  mountains  still  flashed  their  daz 
zling  treasures  in  the  sunshine,  the  brawling  stream  still 
flowed  in  its  brightness  and  beauty  through  the  town; 
but  the  excitement  was  over,  and  the  glory  of  Montgom 
ery  had  departed. 


8 


114  DELUSIONS    OF    YOUNG    PEOPLE. 


DELUSIONS  OF  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

By  REV.  DR.  OSCAR  P.  FITZGERALD. 

WHEN  we  get  beyond  the  thirties  and  forties  in  our 
pilgrimage  towards  the  goal  of  this  life,  and  begin  to 
pay  the  heavy  interest  due  on  the  debts  incurred  by  the 
delusions  of  youth,  we  sigh  as  we  look  back  over  the 
path  of  the  vanished  years  and  recall  the  mistakes  that 
might  have  been  avoided,  and  think  of  the  opportunities 
for  wise  choice  that  were  lost,  and  will  never  come  to 
us  again. 

Pardon  me,  my  young  friends,  if  I  have  struck  a  note 
too  serious.  The  theme  has  its  solemn  side,  and  I  am 
standing  with  your  seniors  on  that  side  where  we  hear 
the  roar  of  that  ocean  beyond  which  lie  the  Great  lieal- 
ities.  I  am  not  sad,  but  serious;  not  repining,  but 
reflecting. 

All  of  us  have  our  delusions.  It  depends  upon  the 
character  of  our  delusions,  and  the  manner  in  which  we 
become  free  or  disillusionized,  whether  in  recalling  them 
we  shall  have  cause  to  sigh  or  smile.  Some  delusions 
are  harmless,  some  are  silly,  some  are  injurious,  some 
may  be  beneficial  in  a  certain  sense.  If  I  enumerate 
some  of  them,  you  will  be  able  to  classify  and  apply  as 
I  proceed. 

One  of  the  delusions  of  young  people  is  the  notion 
that  other  people  are  very  deeply  interested  in  all  they 
do  or  say.  It  usually  requires  a  long  time  to  get  free 
of  this  delusion.  Standing  "in  the  center  of  his  own 
horizon,"  the  youth  sees  but  little,  but  imagines  that 
little  draws  upon  him  the  attention  of  all  the  world. 
He  cannot  realize  that  other  people  are  more  interested 
in  themselves  than  in  him. 


DELUSIONS     OF    YOUNG    PEOPLE.  115 

Ifc  is  another  delusion  of  young  people  that  what 
is  new  to  them  is  new  to  everybody  else.  It  is  refresh" 
ing  to  see  how  a  sprightly  young  mind  revels  in  a  world 
of  newly-discovered  ideas.  The  new  world  of  thought 
is  relished  by  young  students  as  keenly  as  the  wroiid  of 
nature  is  relished  by  the  senses  in  childhood.  They 
rejoice  in  discoveries  of  original  ideas,  and  of  ten  are  not 
slow  to  communicate  their  fancied  discoveries.  When 
one  of  these  deluded  youths  begins  to  find  out  that  his 
new  ideas  are  old  ones,  he  becomes  first  bewildered, 
then  ashamed,  then  timid  and  suspicious.  He  is  as 
much  afraid  of  the  ancients  as  California  settlers  are  of 
Spanish  grants.  He  finds  so  many  of  the  best  thoughts 
already  appropriated,  that  he  is  afraid  to  assert  a  pre 
emption  claim  even  to  the  quarter  section  of  an  idea. 
Sometimes  this  difficulty  is  met  in  a  manner  at  once 
bolder  and  baser,  by  stealing  from  others.  But  he  who 
does  this  is  the  victim  of  a  delusion.  He  thinks  nobody 
knows  it,  when  the  fact  is,  the  very  persons  of  all  others 
from  whom  he  would  conceal  his  theft,  are  the  ones  who 
will  be  sure  to  find  it  out.  The  whine  of  a  puppy  is 
not  mistaken  for  the  growl  of  a  lion.  Borrowed  pea 
cock's  feathers  do  not  hide  the  silly  goose.  Original 
thought  is  more  difficult  now  than  in  the  days  of  Ho 
mer,  but  the  application  of  ideas  and  the  forms  of  ex 
pression  change  endlessly,  and  there  is  no  need  of 
purloining  from  our  forefathers,  even  if  detection  were 
impossible.  It  is  amusing  to  listen  to  the  youthful 
peddler  of  old  ideas  as  new.  Sometimes  you  see  him 
in  the  pulpit — the  last  place  into  which  pretension  and 
affectation  should  intrude.  Keligion  mourns,  decency 
blushes.  The  cure  for  this  delusion  of  young  people  is 
time.  Except  in  the  few  cases  of  the  hopeless  fools, 
persons  as  they  grow  older  find  out  their  own  limita- 


116       DELUSIONS  OF  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

tions,  and  give  other  people  credit  for  knowing  some 
thing  as  well  as  themselves. 

It  is  a  prevalent  delusion  with  young  people  that  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  good  fortune,  as  distinguished  from 
evil  fortune.  It  is  fully  and  eternally  true  that  no  per 
son's  good  fortune  can  really  rise  above  his  character 
or  deserts.  The  contrary  belief  of  thousands  makes  of 
them  hypocrites,  scoundrels,  failures,  wrecks.  The 
worship  of  the  goddess  of  luck  is  the  worst  sort  of  devil- 
worship,  and  yet  what  multitudes  bow  at  her  shrine! 
In  the  imaginations  of  the  young,  she  presides  not  only 
over  the  stock  exchange  and  the  gaming  table,  but  in 
the  business  mart,  the  law  office,  the  political  arena  and 
the  matrimonial  market.  Considering  the  chances  of  a 
life-time,  they  think  the  lightning  of  luck  must  strike 
them  at  least  once.  In  no  good  and  true  sense  can  this 
be  so,  my  young  friends.  It  is  not  pretended  that  the 
circumstances  of  all  men's  and  women's  lives  are  the 
same.  From  a  superficial  view,  there  seems  to  be  end 
less  diversity  of  good  and  evil  fortune.  Some  are  born 
poor,  others  are  born  rich;  some  are  strong,  others  are 
weak;  some  die  early,  others  reach  long  life;  one  falls 
in  the  battle,  another  escapes;  one  toils  hard  and  nearly 
starves  in  obscurity,  while  another  apparently  has  only 
to  wish  and  his  wishes  are  met.  This  is  on  the  surface. 
A  deeper  view  will  show  that  luck  goes  for  nothing  in 
the  problem  of  human  destiny,  which  is  directly  and 
wholly  involved  in  that  of  character.  This  truth  is  too 
important  to  be  omitted,  but  its  discussion  would  lead 
me  too  far  at  present.  Every  individual's  fortune  is 
within,  as  Emerson  says,  "  For  everything  worth  having 
we  must  pay  the  price."  This  is  a  true  saying;  all  the 
apparently-successful  thieves,  quacks,  demagogues  and 
cheats  and  liars  of  every  shade  and  name  to  the  con- 


DELUSIONS    OF    YOUNG    PEOPLE.  117 

trarj  notwithstanding.  It  is  not  safe  to  trust  the  young 
man  who  trusts  to  luck.  He  is  apt  to  be  a  young  man 
who  swindles  his  employer,  neglects  to  pay  his  board 
bill  and  washerwoman,  and  brings  to  sorrow  and  dis 
grace  the  woman  who  may  be  foolish  enough  to  risk  her 
luck  in  marrying  him.  You  may  point  to  your  little 
men  in  high  places,  your  mean  men  in  places  that  ought 
to  be  honorable  almost  everywhere,  and  claim  that  they 
were  lucky;  but  I  reply  that  they  have  not  risen  above 
themselves.  Honor  refuses  to  crown  them,  while  she 
bends  over  the  dust  of  martyred  heroes,  and  hangs  the 
amaranth  of  a  glorious  immortality  upon  their  tombs. 
Another  delusion  of  young  people  is  that  they  can 
safely  toy  a  little  with  evil,  go  no  farther  than  they 
wish,  and  retrace  their  steps  when  they  choose.  This 
delusion  is  probably  the  most  fatal  of  all  others.  It  is 
the  bait  which  hides  most  effectually  the  sharp  point 
and  barb  of  the  devil's  hook.  Only  nibble,  and  he  will 
soon  have  you  fast.  To  begin  a  course  of  evil  is  to  get 
on  an  inclined  plane,  down  which  the  momentum  in 
creases  fearfully  every  moment.  Young  friends,  don't 
nibble  at  the  devil's  hook.  Don't  get  on  the  inclined 
plane.  One  winter,  about  the  beginning  of  the  heavy 
rains,  passing  down  the  Sacramento  river,  above  Sher 
man  Island,  I  observed  that  the  water  had  in  one  place 
just  barely  overflowed  the  bank,  and  was  trickling  gently 
through  the  opening.  In  a  few  clays,  behold  the  change! 
The  floods  had  lifted  themselves  up  in  their  power, 
swept  away  all  the  embankments,  and  were  furiously 
rolling  in  a  turbid,  resistless  volume  over  the  plains, 
submerging,  destroying  everything  in  their  course!  It 
was  said  that  fifty  dollars'  worth  of  labor  bestowed  upon 
the  weak  point  would  have  prevented  all  the  disaster. 
It  was  the  beginning  that  did  all  the  mischief.  So  with 


118  DELUSIONS    OF    YOUNG    PEOPLE. 

the  beginnings  of  evil.  The  barriers  of  principle  and 
right  habit  once  broken  down,  the  floods  of  evil  bear 
all  before  them.  Do  not  admit  the  beginnings.  The 
Sacramento  floods  have  subsided;  the  flowers  are  bloom 
ing  and  harvests  waving  where  once  rolled  a  watery 
waste.  But,  alas!  my  young  friends,  the  flowers  of 
hope  and  innocence  will  never  bloom,  nor  harvests  of 
usefulness  and  happiness  wave  in  the  moral  desert  of 
the  soul  where  evil  has  done  its  work. 

There  are  various  minor  delusions  against  which  it 
is  hardly  necessary  that  I  should  warn  you.  You  are 
deluded  when  you  think  that  tight  boots  are  worth  the 
pain  they  cost  you ;  that  you  could  write  poetry  if  you 
were  only  to  try;  that  the  use  of  tobacco  is  necessary  to 
manhood;  that  rudeness  is  the  same  as  independence; 
that  eccentricity  is  a  sure  mark  of  genius;  that  the 
great  object  of  life  is  to  have  a  jolly  time;  that  an  un- 
dutiful  daughter  can  make  a  good  wife;  that  you  can 
sow  wild  oats  without  reaping  wild  sorrow;  that  slander 
can  hurt  the  innocent,  or  that  all  that  you  do  not  know 
would  not  make  a  big  book. 

Though  I  have  said  nothing  about  the  delusions  of 
girls  and  young  women,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  I 
think  they  have  no  delusions.  That  would  be  a  delu 
sion,  indeed.  While  many  of  the  delusions  of  young 
people  are  common  to  both  sexes,  there  are  some  pecul 
iar  to  the  fair  sex.  I  cannot  give  them  the  attention 
they  deserve,  for  time  would  fail.  It  would  take  a  good 
while  to  mention  all  the  delusions  to  which  young  ladies 
are  subject.  I  can  only  glance  at  a  few. 

It  is  a  prevalent  delusion,  with  many  young  women, 
that  the  functions  of  life  are  discharged  by  dressing 
nicely,  looking  pretty,  and  giving  the  world  an  oppor 
tunity  to  admire  and  pet  them.  It  is  lamentable  to  meet 


DELUSIONS    OP    YOUNG    PEOPLE.  119 

one  of  these  young  girls,  lounging  about  the  house, 
doubled  up  in  a  rocking-chair  or  a  sofa,  reading  novels 
or  such  love  stories  as  are  found  in  the  popular  weeklies. 

Many  young  women  are  deluded  with  the  idea  that 
they  are  heroines.  They  imagine  they  have  feelings  too 
deep  for  the  comprehension  of  common  natures;  their 
lofty  souls  dwell  apart  from  the  vulgar  herd.  Fate  is 
against  them;  they  are  the  most  misunderstood,  the  most 
miserable  of  creatures, — a  kind  of  female  Byrons  or 
Shelleys,  minus  the  genius, — who  cultivate  heroics,  affect 
untold  wretchedness,  and  glory  in  a  proud  despair.  A 
little  real  trouble  will  bring  them  to  their  senses  in  most 
cases. 

It  is  a  delusion  for  girls  to  think  that  it  is  the  right 
thing  to  spend  all  their  time  doing  nothing,  or  thrum 
ming  the  everlasting  piano  while  their  mothers  do  all 
the  housework;  that  all  the  men  who  make  pretty 
speeches  to  them  tell  the  truth;  that  money  grows  on 
trees;  that  the  style  of  their  bonnets  is  of  more  import 
ance  than  the  cultivation  of  their  minds;  that  a  little 
slang  is  sprightly;  that  to  be  out  of  the  fashion  is  the 
climax  of  human  misfortune;  that  it  is  particularly  gen 
teel  not  to  know  how  to  work;  that  when  they  are  as  old 
as  their  mothers  they  will  know  more  than  their  mothers 
ever  knew. 

Do  not  think,  my  young  friends,  that  all  the  high 
hopes  and  glorious  visions  of  youth  are  delusions.  No, 
thank  God !  the  grandest,  best  of  them  are  not  delusions 
but  prophecies.  The  measure  of  right  aspiration  is  the 
measure  of  possible  attainment.  The  height  of  holy 
hope  is  the  gauge  of  possible  fruition.  The  loftiest  mel 
ody  of  the  best  moment  of  your  life  may  be  the  key-note 
of  an  eternal  song.  From  the  bay-window  of  my  cot 
tage  on  the  western  edge  of  Russian  Hill,  San  Francisco, 


120  DELUSIONS    OF    YOUNG     PEOPLE. 

at  the  close  of  a  warm  clay,  I  sat  gazing  upon  the  chang 
ing  glories  of  a  gorgeous  sunset.  The  ships  seemed 
asleep  upon  the  placid  waters  of  the  bay;  above  the 
Golden  Gate  hung  a  drapery  of  burning  clouds,  almost 
too  bright  for  the  gazer's  eye;  Tamalpais,  lifted  above 
the  Marin  hills,  had  wrapped  himself  in  an  evening  robe 
of  royal  purple,  and  sat  like  a  monarch  on  his  throne; 
the  islands  in  sight  were  not  quieter  than  the  waters 
that  held  them  in  soft  embrace.  Above  the  golden  glow 
of  the  hills  of  Contra  Costa,  the  sky  blushed  as  if  con 
scious  of  its  own  loveliness.  As  I  gazed,  my  soul  was 
filled  with  a  sense  of  beauty,  and  I  worshiped  God  the 
Creator  of  all.  But  even  while  I  gazed  the  scene 
changed.  The  blazing  cloud-fires  died  out,  the  purple 
of  the  mountain  deepened  into  darkness,  the  sunlit 
islands  almost  faded  from  sight  in  the  thickening  twi 
light;  the  rose-tinted  sky  turned  to  sober  evening  gray, 
the  bugle  of  Alcatraz  pealing  over  the  waters,  announced 
that  the  day  was  gone;  then  the  stars  came  out  over 
head  to  shine  until  the  break  of  the  morning  light.  So, 
friends,  though  the  glorious  visions  of  your  youth  may 
fade,  its  bright  hopes  perish,  and  disappointment  and 
defeat  settle  down  upon  your  lives,  the  stars  of  Christian 
faith  will  shine  through  your  night  of  trial  until  the 
morning  comes,  and  upon  your  glorified  spirit  shall 
burst  the  sunrise  of  immortality. 


THE     ROCKY    MOUNTAINS.  12] 

THE  EOCKY  MOUNTAINS,  NOW  AND  THEN. 

BY  JOHN  C.  FREMONT. 
LONG  years  ago  I  wandered  here, 
In  the  mid-summer  of  the  year, 

Life's  summer  too; 
A  score  of  horsemen  here  we  rode, 
The  mountain- world  its  glories  showed; 

All  fair  to  view. 

These  scenes  in  glowing  colors  drest, 
Mirrored  the  life  within  my  breast, 

Its  world  of  hope; 

The  whispering  woods  and  fragrant  breeze 
That  stirred  the  grass  in  verdant  seas 

On  billowy  slope. 

And  glistening  crag  in  sun-lit  sky, 
'Mid  snowy  clouds  piled  mountain  high, 

Were  joys  to  me; 

My  path  was  o'er  the  prairies  wide, 
Or  here  on  grander  mountain-side, 

To  choose,  all  free. 

The  rose  that  waved  in  morning  air, 
And  spread  its  dewy  fragrance  there 

In  careless  bloom, 
Gave  to  my  heart  its  ruddiest  hue, 
O'er  my  glad  life  its  colors  threw, 

And  sweet  perfume. 

Now  changed  the  scene,  and  changed  the  eyes 
That  here  once  looked  on  glowing  skies, 

Where  Summer  smiled; 
The  riven  trees  and  wind-swept  plain 
Now  show  the  Winter's  dread  domain- 
Its  fury  wild. 


122  THE    ROCKY    MOUNTAINS. 

The  rocks  rise  black  .from  storm-packed  snow, 
All  checked  the  river's  pleasant  flow, 

Vanished  the  bloom; 
These  dreary  wastes  of  frozen  plain 
Reflect  rny  bosom's  life  again, 

Now  lonesome  gloom. 

The  buoyant  hopes  and  busy  life 
Have  ended  all  in  hateful  strife, 

And  thwarted  aim. 

The  world's  rude  contact  killed  the  rose; 
No  more  its  radiant  color  shows 

False  roads  to  fame. 

Backward,  amidst  the  twilight  glow, 
Some  lingering  spots  yet  brightly  show, 

On  hard  roads  won; 

Where  still  some  grand  peaks  mark  the  way 
Touched  by  the  light  of  parting  day 

And  memory's  sun. 

But  here,  thick  clouds  the  mountain  hide; 
The  dim  horizon,  bleak  and  wide, 

No  pathway  shows; 
And  rising  gusts  and  darkening  sky 
Tell  of  "  the  night  that  cometh"  nigh, 

The  brief  day's  close. 


THE    VIEGIN    MARY    AND    THE    BABY.  123 


THE  VIKGIN  MAEY  AND  THE  BABY. 

BY  MRS.  JESSIE  BENTON  FREMONT. 

LETTER  FROM  A  CATHOLIC  MOTHER. 

11  At  last,  in  this  month  of  roses,  to  us  the  "month  of  Mary," 
the  hoped-for  baby  girl  has  come.  We  have  given  her  the  name  that 
includes  all  prayers  and  all  blessings,  Mary. 


ANSWER  FROM  A  PROTESTANT  FRIEND. 
MARY!  loviDg,  gentle  Mother, 
In  deepest  faith  we  bring  another, 
Bring  her  trustingly  to  thee. 

Asking  only,  Blessed  Lady, 
That  this  darling  longed-for  baby 
May  from  and  grief  sin  be  free : 

Hoping  that  while  life  remains 
She  may  meet  no  earthly  stains, 
But  shelter  ever  find  in  thee : 

Trusting  that  when  life  is  closing, 
On  thy  mother-heart  reposing, 
Eternal  rest  she'll  find  with  thee: 

Praying,  O  Mary !  when  at  last, 

Life  and  its  weary  cares  are  past, 

We,  with  our  babes,  may  rest  with  thee. 


124  SOWING    AND    HEAPING. 


SOWING  AND  REAPING. 

BY  DR.  ELIZABETH  J.  FRENCH. 

IT  was  said  by  one  who  spake  as  the  oracle  of  God, 
"Whatever  a  man  soweth  that  shall  he  reap,"  and  this 
inspired  utterance  comprehends  the  vast  field  of  human 
experience,  the  sum  total  of  human  life.  Its  harvests 
of  sunshine  and  shadow,  hope  and  fear,  joy  and  sorrow, 
happiness  and  misery,  health  and  disease,  and  the  final 
culmination  in  a  successful  or  an  unsuccessful  destiny, 
have  each  had  their  own  distinct  and  certain  seed-time. 
It  is  true,  the  same  hand  that  scattered  the  seed  may 
not  reap  the  harvest.  Many  sow  where  they  do  not 
reap,  while  many  reap  where  they  have  not  sown. 

Our  humanity  is  a  common  one.  Bound  together  by 
successive  and  inseparable  links  (and  I  may  here  add 
parenthetically,  that  it  is  because  of  the  far  reaching 
consequences  of  individual  acts  and  the  entailment  of 
those  consequences  upon  his  fellows,  that  in  the  Divine 
order  the  individual  is  held  to  such  strict  personal  ac 
countability),  the  advanced  thought,  the  profound  phil 
osophy,  and  the  brilliant  learning  that  now  reflect  the 
glory  of  heaven  upon  a  race  created  "a  little  lower 
than  the  angels,"  are  not  of  to-day.  But  they  are  the 
garnered  gleanings  of  human  toil,  human  ambition,  and 
human  genius,  the  seed  of  which  was  scattered  all  along 
the  line  of  successive  ages. 

In  the  world's  great  historv,  revolutions  have  pressed 
closely  upon  the  heels  of  revolutions;  generation  after 
generation  has  passed  away,  age  after  age  has  rolled  si 
lently  by,  but  each  has  left  its  impress  upon  the  "sands 
of  time,"  and  added  its  contributions  to  the  rock-built 
pyramid  of  science,  until  to-day  its  light-crowned  vertex 
reaches  to  the  stars. 


SOWING    AND     REAPING.  125 

If  the  past  generations  of  the  world  have  bequeathed 
to  us  tin  inheritance  of  untold  good,  they  have  also,  by 
the  inevitable  law  of  compensation  and  hereditary  trans 
mission,  bequeathed  to  us  an  inheritance  of  untold  and 
incalculable  evil.  That  "the  sins  of  the  fathers  shall 
be  visited  upon  the  children,  even  unto  the  third  and 
fourth  generation,"  is  not  the  arbitramental  expression 
of  the  Divine  will,  but  the  simple  declaration  of  a  law 
that  is  eternal  and  inexorable  as  fate. 

In  considering  the  great  problem  of  disease,  crime, 
untimely  death  and  other  human  sufferings,  the  prime 
factor  is,  unquestionably,  intemperance.  Its  history  is 
the  darkest  page  in  our  national  records.  It  is  the 
story  of  a  long,  black  night — rayless,  cheerless,  hope 
less.  A  chapter  written  in  human  blood  and  full  of 
human  suffering:  a  harvest  of  evil,  unmixed  with  a 
single  grain  of  good. 

The  first  ripple  on  the  shore  gives  no  sign  of  the 
overwhelming  power  that  lies  behind  the  slowly  creep 
ing  tide.  Our  Puritan  fathers  had  no  thought  that  a 
side-board,  laden  with  liquors  and  smelling  like  a  very 
active  grog-shop,  was  not  an  eminently  proper  prepara 
tion  for  even  an  important  religious  service;  and  that 
a  considerable  amount  of  exhilaration  from  this  cause 
was  entirely  in  keeping  with  a  devoutly  religious  char 
acter. 

Scarce  half  a  century  ago,  a  clergyman  remarked  the 
imminent  danger  he  was  in  of  getting  drunk  while  mak 
ing  his  round  of  morning  calls.  In  their  blind  ignor 
ance  of  the  serpent  they  were  taking  to  their  bosom, 
our  ancestors  made  the  side-board  as  necessary  to  the 
household  us  the  Hour-barrel. 

High  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  wise  and  unwise,  virtu 
ous  and  unvirtuous,  were  brought  within  the  charmed 


126  SOWING    AND    REAPING. 

circle  of  a  power  that,l  ike  the  many-armed  monster  of 
the  sea,  fixes  its  fatal  grasp  before  the  victim  is  con 
scious  of  the  presence  of  an  enemy. 

Philosophers,  statesmen,  and  poets,  gathered  around 
the  supposed  Promethean  flame  that  had  come  down 
from  heaven  to  burnish  the  lustre  of  their  genius,  and  to 
add  refulgence  to  the  grand  conceptions  of  their  intel 
lects  and  splendor  to  their  imagery  and  diction. 

Chief  in  the  sad  category  stands  the  great  Massachu 
setts  senator,  Daniel  Webster,  who,  like  a  splendid 
meteor,  flashed  athwart  the  American  sky,  and  then 
went  out  in  sudden  night.  Talcot,  the  nobly-endowed 
attorney-general  of  New  York  ;  the  inspired  Poe  ;  a 
late  conspicuous  cabinet  officer  of  two  successive  pres 
idential  administrations;  a  distinguished  statesman,  who 
almost  achieved  success  in  a  mad  race  for  the  Presi 
dency,  but  gained  instead  a  drunkard's  grave;  and  a 
host  of  others  whose  names  are  as  familiar  as  household 
words,  and  the  history  and  tragic  issue  of  whose  lives 
stand  out  in  gloomy  monumental  grandeur,  are  sad, 
mournful  mementoes  of  great  genius  ruined. 

But  war,  savage  butchery,  pestilence  and  famine  have 
all  been  merciful,  compared  with  this  insatiate  monster, 
whose  rapacious  greed  is  devouring  the  very  life-blood 
of  our  national  existence. 

Who  of  my  readers  can  contemplate,  without  a  shud 
der,  the  startling  declaration  that  more  than  a  hundred 
thousand  lives  are  annually  crushed  out  by  the  vice  of 
intemperance,  in  our  own  land  alone?  Add  to  this  the 
bleeding,  broken  hearts  that  have  been  robbed  of  their 
richest  treasures,  and  the  homes  that  have  been  made 
desolate  forever. 

Add,  also,  nine  tenths  of  all  the  crimes  that  blot  and 
blacken  the  history  of  our  country.  Then  add  to  the 


SOWING    AND    REAPING.  127 

measure  of  this  terrible  iniquity  the  transmission  of 
diseased  tendencies,  a  poisoned  fountain  that  corrupts 
and  pollutes  the  whole  stream  below.  A  prominent 
pathologist  of  to-day  emphatically  declares  that  "an 
inebriate  parent  transmits  enough  poison  to  require  ten 
generations  to  eliminate  it." 

The  children  of  such  parents  inherit  a  physical  and 
moral  nature  so  diseased  and  defective  that,  by  the  very 
conditions  of  their  birth,  they  are  bowed  down  as  by  an 
iron  fate.  They  have  bequeathed  to  them  a  life-strug 
gle,  from  which  they  seldom  escape.  Nature  herself 
seems  mercifully  leagued  against  them,  and  they  are 
brought  down  to  early  graves.  Were  it  not  so,  in  the 
next  generation  there  would  be  evidences  of  a  still 
more  marked  physical  degeneracy.  Idiocy,  deafness, 
shocking  physical  deformities,  and  the  whole  catalogue 
of  nervous  diseases,  are  in  a  vast  majority  of  cases 
traceable  to  this  cause,  even  through  many  and  remote 
generations. 

What  a  theme  for  mothers  to  contemplate! — they  to 
whom  is  entrusted,  as  a  solemn  responsibility,  the  per 
petuity  of  the  race. 

I  am  not  surprised  that  an  enlightened  womanhood, 
comprehending  the  startling  truths  that  have  been  de 
veloped  by  the  physiologist  and  pathologist  concerning 
the  transmission  of  ancestral  vice,  and  more  especially 
she  who  feels  in  her  own  perverted  physical  and  moral 
life-forces  the  taint  of  inherited  pollution,  should  pause 
tremblingly  on  the  threshold  of  maternity,  and  even 
shrink  from  the  exercise  of  a  God-given  prerogative. 
And  I  submit  the  proposition  to  a  candid  public,  that 
it  were  better,  far  better,  that  she  should  go  down  to 
her  grave  a  blossomless  tree,  and  let  her  inheritance  of 
evil  die  with  her.  For  if  we  would  bequeath  to  those 


128  SOWING    AND    HEAPING. 

who  stand  next  us  on  the  line  a  better  inheritance  and 
a  better  destiny,  we  can  only  hope  to  do  it  through  the 
physical  and  moral  exaltation  of  motherhood. 

Oh.  ye  women  of  America!  Ye  who  are  to  be  the 
mothers  of  the  unborn  judges  and  law-givers  of  the  fu 
ture  !  The  destiny  of  the  mightiest  empire  on  the  globe  is 
in  your  hands.  God  help  you  to  comprehend  and  prepare 
yourselves  for  the  grand  and  sublime  mission  to  which 
you  are  chosen !  Gird  yourselves  for  your  work ;  let  noth 
ing  deter  you  from  aspiring  to  and  attaining  the  grand 
possibilities  that  are  within  your  reach.  Study  your 
selves  and  the  laws  of  your  being,  and  impart  to  your 
daughters,  through  every  available  avenue,  a  full  knowl 
edge  of  the  laws  of  health.  Teach  them,  and  apply 
yourselves  to  growing  strong  in  body  and  in  mind.  And 
I  conjure  you,  by  all  your  hopes  of  happiness  in  this 
life  and  the  life  to  come,  keep  your  minds  pure  and 
preserve  your  bodies  as  "the  temple  of  the  living  God :'' 
a  sanctuary  where  all  his  commandments  are  kept  invio 
late  and  all  his  mandates  are  obeyed. 

Then  you  may  accept  thankfully  and  gladly  your  high 
destiny  in  God's  appointed  way.  You  will  have  "gone 
forth,  bearing  precious  seed,"  and  you  will  have  your 
harvest  of  good  things  even  here.  Your  children  will 
rise  up  and  call  you  blessed. 

Even  as  we  honor  and  revere  the  memory  of  tho 
mothers  of  the  nation,  so  shall  your  names  go  down  to 
posterity  wreathed  with  unfading  laurels.  And  in  the 
city  of  the  Great  King,  the  reward  of  the  just  and  the 
crown  of  the  faithful  shall  be  yours  forever. 


EACH    AND    ALL.  129 


EACH  AND  ALL. 

BY  HENRY  GEORGE. 

THE  organization  for  which  I  am  asked  to  write  this 
article  has  a  noble  purpose, — to  help  in  helping  them 
selves  those  to  whom  society  is  but  a  hard  step-mother; 
to  aid  in  bringing  under  happier  influences  those  whose 
mental  and  moral  growth  may  be  otherwise  stunted  and 
distorted;  to  give  a  sign  to  those  who  stand  at  the  forks 
of  the  road  of  life  and  have  no  guide.  Already  in  our 
young  city  there  is  need  of  such  an  organization,  and  its 
hands  are  weak  for  what  it  finds  to  do.  With  the  years 
the  need  will  increase.  They  are  born  to-day  who  may 
live  to  see  around  this  bay  not  merely  a  New  York  but 
a  London. 

Even  such  an  agency  as  this,  how  much  it  may  ac 
complish!  How  many  human  beings  it  may  help  to 
bring  out  of  shadow  into  the  sunlight !  How  many  lives 
it  may  bless  and  brighten,  again  in  their  turn  to 
brighten  and  to  bless!  For  sometimes  what  seems  a 
very  little  thing  determines  the  whole  career  of  a  man. 

How  much  of  the  vice  and  crime,  the  ignorance  and 
misery  and  meanness  which  disfigure  society,  springs 
from  causes  within  human  control!  It  is  more  than 
alms  that  is  due  from  the  strong  to  the  weak;  from  the 
wise  to  the  ignorant;  from  the  rich  to  the  poor, — it  is 
an  obligation.  For  they  who  have,  have  received. 

The  will  within  us  is  the  ultimate  fact  of  conscious 
ness.  Yet  how  little  have  the  best  of  us,  in  acquire 
ments,  in  position,  even  in  character,  that  may  be 
credited  entirely  to  ourselves!  how  much  to  the  influ 
ences  that  have  moulded  us!  Who  is  there,  wise, 
learned,  discreet,  or  strong,  who  might  not,  were  he  to 


130  EACH    AND     ALL. 

trace  the  inner  history  of  Ins  life,  turn  like  the  stoic 
Emperor  to  give  thanks  to  the  gods,  that  by  this  one 
and  that  one,  and  here  and  there,  good  examples  have 
been  set  him,  noble  thoughts  have   reached  him,  and 
happy  influences  have  touched  to  bless  him  ?     Who  is 
there  that  with  his  eyes  about  him  has  reached  the 
meridian   of  life,  who  has  not  sometimes   echoed  the 
thought  of  the  pious  Englishman  as  the  criminal  passed 
to  the  gallows,  "  But  for  the  grace  of  God,  there  go  I." 
We  talk  about  hereditary  power.     But  what,  either 
in  individual  or  in  national  life,  is  it  to  the  ever-press 
ing  forces  which  act  upon  each  from  all  around  us? 
Does  all  the  Anglo-Saxon  live  in  me,  and  in  that  other, 
all  the  thousand  years  of  Chinese  petrifaction  ?     Per 
haps.     How  little  passes  with  the  blood!     Place  an  in 
fant  in  the  heart  of  China,  and  but  for  the  angle  of  the 
eye  or  the  shade  of  the  hair,  the  Caucasian  would  grow 
up  a  Chinaman,  using  the  same  speech,  thinking  the 
same   thoughts,   exhibiting   the   same   tastes   as   those 
around  him.     And  what  may  we  expect  from  those  who 
are  growing  up  as  in  the  midst  of  our  civilization  some 
children  are  growing  up  ? 

All  the  efforts  of  science  have  failed  to  trace  back  of 
itself  the  springs  and  sources  of  that  subtle  thing  that 
we  call  life  and  know  not  what  it  is.  So  far  as  we  can 
go  is  to  discern  back  of  each  living  thing  some  other 
living  thing.  Yet  so  widely  are  its  germs  scattered, 
that  given  but  the  conditions  that  support  it,  and  there 
will  life  appear.  And  so  it  seems  in  the  moral  world. 
Whenever  in  human  history  occasion  and  opportunity 
wait  the  man,  forth  he  steps,  and  as  the  common  worker 
is  on  need  transformed  into  queen  bee,  so  wlieii  circum 
stances  are  favorable,  what  might  otherwise  pass  for  a 
common  man,  rises  into  hero  or  leader,  sage  or  saint. 


EACH    AND    ALL.  131 

So  widely  lias  the  sower  scattered  the  good  seed;  so 
strong  is  the  germinative  force  that  bids  it  bud  and 
blossom.  But,  alas!  for  the  stony  ground,  and  the 
birds,  and  the  tares !  For  one  who  attains  his  full  stat 
ure,  how  many  are  stunted  and  deformed ! 

Saddest  of  all  the  sights  of  a  great  city,  such  as  San 
Francisco,  are  the  little  children  of  the  quarters  where 
poverty  hides — saddest  and  most  menacing.  Pinched, 
ragged,  and  dirty;  yet  in  every  little  body  a  human  soul; 
in  every  little  body  latent  powers  that  might  strengthen 
and  bless  society;  but  that  may  only  awake  to  curse, 
perhaps  to  destroy.  Is  it  not  waste,  and  worse  ?  Out 
of  just  such  human  stuff  have  grown  earth's  best  and 
noblest;  and  out  of  such  waste  have  come  the  vermin 
that  have  gnawed,  and  the  were-wolves  that  have 
destroyed — they  who  have  shattered  the  domes  of 
national  glory,  and  in  palace-walls  given  the  wild  dog 
a  lair. 

Who  shall  wrap  himself  up  and  say,  "This  is  not  my 
affair!  "  Each  is  inextricably  linked  to  all  by  a  law  of 
which  gravitation  is  but  the  physical  expression.  We 
talk  about  lineage  and  descent,  and  there  are  some  who 
are  proud  of  what  they  call  their  blood;  and  some  who 
would  found  families,  yet  care  not  how  it  fares  with 
other  people's  children.  Each  has  two  parents,  four 
grand-parents,  eight  great-graud-parents,  and  so  on. 
Back  but  a  few  degrees,  and  his  ancestors  must  be  those 
of  all  his  people.  And  so  forward,  a  few  degrees,  and 
the  blood  of  each  must  run  in  all.  Drawn  from  a 
common  ocean,  proceeding  towards  a  common  ocean, 
we  are  separate  but  as  drops  of  rain. 

However  strong  his  individuality,  who  can  escape  the 
conditions  of  his  time  ?  Stout  may  the  swimmer  be, 


132  EACH    AND    ALL. 

but  lie  breasts  a  current.  Among  mental  pigmies  can 
even  the  intellectual  giant  attain  his  full  stature?  How 
hard  to  be  brave  among  cowards,  generous  among  the 
selfish,  learned  among  the  ignorant,  or  spiritual  among 
the  irnbruted !  How  dominant  is  fashion — in  dress,  in 
play,  in  speech,  in  thought,  in  tastes,  in  manners  and 
in  morals. 

In  a  balloon  one  can  get  above  the  level  of  the  earth 
some  thousands  of  feet,  but  not  above  the  atmosphere. 
The  millionaire  may  build  himself  a  mansion  on  a  hill, 
but  how  shall  he  shut  out  the  influence  of  the  slums  ? 

An  eminent  clergyman  who,  like 

"  John  P.  Kobinson,  he 
Thinks  they  didn't  know  anything-  down  in  Judee," 

only  expresses  the  belief  of  many  other  professed  Chris 
tians  when  he  declares  that  the  injunction,  "take  no 
thought  for  the  morrow;  what  ye  shall  eat,  and  what  ye 
shall  drink,  and  wherewithal  ye  shall  be  clothed,"  would, 
if  taken  literally,  bring  civilization  to  an  end  and  reduce 
humanity  to  barbarism. 

So  it  seems  to  those  who  think  society,  as  at  present 
constituted,  the  only  possible  society.  But  is  this  so  ? 
Having  progressed  thus  far,  may  humanity  progress  no 
further?  Approached  from  the  side  of  political  economy 
and  political  philosophy,  it  seems  to  me  that  this  say 
ing,  too,  has  the  stamp  of  Him  who  spake  as  never  man 
spake,  and  goes  to  the  heart  and  core  of  truth;  that  in 
a  society  such  as  obedience  to  His  precepts  would 
found,  a  society  based  on  the  golden  rule,  there  would 
be  no  anxiety  for  the  morrow,  and  that  not  merely  some 
men  but  all  men  would  be  raised  above  the  care  and 
worry  that  now  consumes  the  largest  part  of  the  brain- 
force  of  mankind.  To  me  it  seems  that  a  civilization  of 


EACH    AND    ALL.  133 

this  kind  is  not  only  possible,  but  that  it  is  the  only 
civilization  that  can  last.  What  is  it  that  has  over 
turned  all  previous  civilizations  ?  May  not  all  causes 
be  reduced  to  one, — the  unequal  distribution  of  the 
wealth  and  power  gained  as  civilization  advanced?  A 
condition  of  inequality  is  always  a  condition  of  unstable 
equilibrium.  Unless  its  foundations  be  laid  in  justice, 
the  strongest  state  is  a  house  built  on  the  sand. 

"Down  in  Judee"  they  did  not  have  the  microscope, 
nor  the  telescope,  nor  the  spectrum  analysis,  nor  the 
electric  light,  nor  the  railroad  train,  nor  the  daily  news 
paper;  but  may  it  not  possibly  be  that  in  the  moral 
truths  that  from  them  came  down  to  us,  may  be  some 
deeper  things  than  our  telescopes  can  reach  and  our 
chemistry  discover? 

What  is  it  that  hems  in  and  checks  civilization  to-day, 
and  makes  our  progress  seem  like  the  chase  of  a  mirage? 
Not  the  limitations  of  nature,  nor  the  feebleness  of  the 
intellect.  May  it  not  be  the  failure  to  recognize  moral 
truth  ? 

The  winds  do  our  bidding,  and  the  occult  pulses  of 
the  earth  carry  our  words;  we  weigh  the  sun  and  ana 
lyze  the  stars.  One  after  another,  mightier  genii  than 
those  that  arise  in  Arabian  story  have  bowed  to  the  call 
of  the  lamp  of  knowledge.  And  yet  they  throng  and 
come,  powers  more  vast,  in  shapes  more  towering.  But 
to  what  end  ?  Look  to  the  van  of  progress,  where  the 
conditions  to  which  all  progressive  countries  are  tend 
ing  are  most  fully  realized,  where  wealth  is  most  abun 
dant  and  population  densest — the  great  cities,  where  one 
may  walk  through  miles  of  palaces,  where  are  the 
grandest  churches,  the  greatest  libraries,  the  highest 
levels  of  luxury,  and  refinement,  and  education,  and 
culture!  Amid  the  greatest  accumulations  of  wealth 


134  EACH    AND    ALL. 

men  die  of  starvation,  and  women  prowl  the  streets  to 
buy  bread  with  shame;  in  factories  where  labor-saving 
machinery  shows  the  last  march  of  ingenuity,  little  chil 
dren  are  at  work  who  ought  to  be  at  play;  where  the 
new  forces  are  most  fully  realized,  large  classes  are 
doomed  to  pauperism  or  live  just  on  its  verge,  while 
everywhere  the  all-absorbing  chase  of  wealth  shows  the 
force  of  the  fear  of  want,  and  from  altars  dedicated  to 
the  Living  God  leers  the  molten  image  of  the  Golden 
Galf. 

Progress  thus  one-sided  is  not  real,  and  cannot  last. 
No  chain  is  stronger  than  its  weakest  link.  If  the  low 
are  not  brought  up,  the  high  shall  be  pulled  down. 
This  is  the  attraction  of  gravitation  of  the  moral  uni 
verse;  it  is  the  fiat  of  the  eternal  justice  that  rules  the 
world.  It  stands  forth  in  the  history  of  every  civiliza 
tion  that  has  had  its  day  and  run  its  course.  It  is  what 
the  Sphinx  says  to  us  as  she  sitteth  in  desert  sand, 
while  the  winged  bulls  of  Nineveh  bear  her  witness!  It 
is  within  the  undecipherable  hieroglyphics  of  Yucatan, 
in  the  brick  mounds  of  Babylon,  in  the  prostrate  columns 
of  Persepolis,  in  the  salt-sown  plain  of  Carthage.  It 
speaks  to  us  from  the  shattered  relics  of  Grecian  art; 
from  the  mighty  ruins  of  the  Coliseum ! 

Very  far  we  cannot  see;  but  this  we  may  see — that 
truth  is  one;  that  eternal  laws  never  jostle  nor  jar;  that 
intellectual  truth  is  the  co-ordinate  of  moral  truth,  and 
the  law  of  liberty  is  the  law  of  love. 

Whether  they  did  or  did  not  ''know  anything  down  in 
Judee,"  is  not  that  philosophy  short-sighted  which 
looks  upon  selfishness  as  the  strongest  of  human  mo 
tives?  "  All  that  a  man  hath  will  he  give  for  his  life;" 
but  in  every  age  have  there  been  those  who,  from  other 
than  selfish  motives,  have  laid  down  even  life. 


EACH    AND    ALL.  135 

It  is  not  selfishness  that  on  every  page  of  the  world's 
annals,  bursts  out  in  the  sudden  splendor  of  noble  deeds 
or  sheds  the  soft  radiance  of  benignant  lives.  Was  it 
selfishness  that  turned  Gautama's  back  to  his  royal 
home,  or  bade  the  Maid  of  Orleans  lift  the  sword  from 
the  altar;  that  held  the  Three  Hundred  in  the  pass  of 
Thermopylae,  or  gathered  into  Winkelried's  bosom  the 
sheaf  of  spears;  that  chained  Vincent  de  Paul  to  the 
bench  of  the  galley,  or  brought  little  starving  children, 
during  the  Indian  famine,  tottering  to  the  relief-stations 
with  yet  weaker  starvelings  in  their  arms? 

Religion,  patriotism,  sympathy,  the  enthusiasm  of 
humanity,  the  love  of  God — call  it  what  you  will,  there 
is  yet  a  force  which  is  the  electricity  of  the  moral  uni 
verse — a  force  beside  which  all  others  are  weak.  Look 
around !  to-day,  as  ever,  the  world  is  full  of  it.  Amid  the 
care  and  the  struggle  of  daily  life,  every  here  and 
there,  may  be  seen  the  play  of  its  lambent  flames.  Is 
it  not  possible  that  a  society  might  exist  in  which  this 
force  might  take  the  place  of  coarser  and  weaker  ones  ? 

Out  of  the  darkness  and  into  the  dark!  What  shall 
we  do  in  our  little  day  ?  This  has  appeared  to  the  com 
mon  perceptions  of  all  men  in  all  times.  It  is  figured 
in  myth,  and  formulated  in  creed,  and  vaguely  outlined 
in  philosophic  systems — that  the  universe  is  the  field  of 
an  effort,  the  struggle  between  good  and  evil,  or  the 
evolution  of  life  to  higher  forms  of  life.  Is  it  not  the 
noblest  thought  that  may  come  to  a  man,  that  he  may 
somehow  help,  even  if  it  be  but  little  ? 

Grandest  of  all  philosophic  generalizations  is  that  of 
the  conservation  of  energy.  The  force  with  which  I 
trace  these  lines,  or  you  open  this  book,  has  acted 
through  all  a  past  eternity,  and  forever  and  forever 
through  a  future  eternity  must  continue  to  act. 


136  EACH    AND    ALL. 

May  not  this,  also,  be  but  the  physical  expression  of 
a  moral  truth?  May  it  not  be  that  the  good  act  must 
continue  to  bear  fruit,  and  the  bad  to  bring  bale,  until 
that  final  time  when  the  substance  shall  unite  with  the 
shadow,  and  evil  cease  to  be  ?  For  him  who  would  do 
something,  there  is  enough  to  do — so  much,  that  it  may 
seem  that  what  he  can  do  is  of  no  avail.  Yet  he  is  one, 
and  the  ocean  is  majde  up  of  drops;  the  earth  of  atoms. 
As  all  act  on  each,  so  each  acts  on  all.  "What  he  may 
do  he  may  not  see,  and  perhaps  it  will  seem  like  writing 
on  the  water,  or  throwing  dust  against  the  wind.  But 
force  persists,  and  somewhere,  sometime,  with  wider 
eyes  it  may  be  traced.  But  sometimes,  even  here,  the 
mists  may  rift,  and  in  a  momentary  gleam  one  may  be 
given  to  see  the  end — the  white  walls  and  the  golden 
streets,  the  glorious  possibilities  of  an  ennobled  hu 
manity — the  New  Jerusalem,  not  built  with  hands,  but 
by  every  high  thought  and  worthy  deed ! 

On  the  upper  Sacramento  they  are  putting  fish-eggs 
into  the  water,  tiny  little  globules,  in  which  the  most 
scrutinizing  analysis  can  discern  nothing  but  inert  mat 
ter.  Under  the  mysterious  influences  of  Nature  they 
become  little  fish;  they  descend  the  tortuous  river,  they 
pass  through  the  waters  of  the  bay,  churned  by  steam 
ships,  and  out  by  the  Golden  Gate  into  the  trackless 
ocean  that  girdles  all  lands  and  into  which  all  rivers 
run.  Yet  they  who  are  putting  these  eggs  into  the 
water  know  the  fact — the  hoiv,  no  man  can  tell — that 
when  the  time  shall  come,  the  fish  will  be  led  by  an 
unerring  instinct,  through  thousands  of  miles  of  track 
less  ocean-wastes,  back  to  the  very  river  that  gave  them 
birth. 

"Cast  your  bread  upon  the  waters,  and  after  many 


CONSOLATION.  IdY 

days  it  shall  return !"  May  it  not  be  that  instead  of  a 
metaphysical  truth,  sometimes  realized  and  sometimes 
not,  this  is  the  expresssion  of  a  literal  truth — of  an  im 
mutable  law?  Where?  how?  when?  How  shall  we 
say,  whose  little  lives  can  hardly  hope  to  span  the  three 
score  years  and  ten,  and  whose  knowledge  can  but  light 
up  the  walls  of  the  unknowable  that  hem  us  in ! 


CONSOLATION. 

BY  MAURICE  F.  EGAN. 

LET  me  forget  the  world, — all,  all  but  thee; 

Let  my  whole  soul  arise,  as  smoke  from  fire, 

In  praise  of  thee;  let  only  one  desire 
Fill  all  my  heart,  that  through  eternity, 
Forever  and  forever,  I  may  be 

As  incense  constant  rising  to  the  Sire, 

Thee,  and  the  Spirit;  may  I  never  tire 
Of  praising  thee,  the  glorious  Trinity. 
Poor  soul,  poor  soul,  such  earthliness  hast  thou! 

Thy  world  's  thyself,  thou  can'st  not  flee  from  it; 

Thy  prayers  are  selfish  when  thou  prayest  best; 
Thy  love  is  little;  thy  soul's  warmest  vow 

As  charred  wood  moistened,  the  fire  free  from  it; 

Thou  lackest  much,  but  Christ  will  fill  the  rest. 


138  AN     ARABIAN     TALE. 

AN  AEABIAN  TALE. 

BY  REV.  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 

AN  Arab  sheik,  owner  of  a  hundred  camels,  three 
hundred  horses  and  a  thousand  sheep,  always  kept  his 
encampment  at  some  distance  from  his  kinsmen.  He 
had  five  sons  and  four  daughters,  who,  as  they  grew, 
Avere  regarded  in  all  that  region  as  the  flower  of  that 
country,  so  careful  was  their  trainiog,  so  thorough  their 
accomplishments,  and  so  pure  their  life. 

One  evening,  when  the  father  and  his  eldest  son  were 
returning  to  the  encampment,  having  ridden  near  sev 
enty  miles  in  search  of  some  camels  who  had  strayed, 
the  boy  begged  permission  to  speak,  and  then  asked 
his  father  why  he  and  his  brothers  and  sisters  were  fed, 
from  day  to  day,  on  dates  and  bread,  with  a  strip  of 
dry  meat  at  noon,  when  the  boys  and  girls  in  neighbor 
ing  encampments  shared  this  luxury  and  that, — fresh 
meat  killed  daily,  fruits  of  names  unknown  from  Yemen, 
and  spices  from  the  ships  of  India. 

And  his  father  said,  "Are  not  your  bodies  strong? 
And  can  you  not  ride  as  well  as  they?" 

The  son  replied,  "There  is  not  a  youth  in  either 
camp  who  can  throw  me  in  wrestling,  and  you  know  if 
I  have  asked  to  draw  bridle  or  to  dismount  to-day." 

His  father  said,  "This  is  what  your  food  is  given  for. 
If  our  fare  is  simple,  it  is  that  you  may  not  be  tempted 
to  prize  the  food  more  than  the  strength  for  which  the 
food  is  given." 

Another  day  the  father  of  the  sheik  had  sent  a  courier 
to  all  the  camps  to  ask  the  attendance  of  his  sons,  and 
of  their  friends,  that  they  might  hear  an  embassador, 
who  had  come  from  Yemen.  He  took  with  him  his 
second  son,  to  care  for  the  horses,  and  to  learu  the 


AN     ARABIAN     TALE.  139 

methods  of  embassies.  One  day  they  went;  one  day 
they  remained  at  the  encampment;  one  day  they  re 
turned.  On  the  third  day,  when  they  had  ridden  ten 
hours,  they  saw  in  the  horizon  the  black  tents  of  their 
tribe. 

Then  the  youth  asked  leave  to  speak,  and  said  to 
his  father,  "  Oh !  my  father,  why  do  you  sleep  upon  the 
ground,  when  your  Idndred  have  cushions,  and  woven 
mats  brought  by  their  slaves,  and  have  furs  from  the 
north  ready,  should  the  night  be  cold  ?  Why,  in  our 
camp,  do  we  have  neither  furs,  cushions,  nor  slaves  ?" 

And  his  father  said,  "  We  sleep  at  night,  that  we  may 
be  strong  to-morrow.  Are  not  your  bodies  as  strong, 
and  can  you  not  ride  as  well  as  they?" 

And  his  son  answered,  ''There  is  not  a  youth  in  their 
tents  who  can  throw  me  in  wrestling.  You  know  if  I 
have  asked  to  draw  bridle  or  to  dismount  to-day." 

His  father  responded,  "This  is  what  sleep  is  given  us 
for.  If  our  beds  are  simple,  it  is  that  we  may  not  be 
tempted  to  prize  the  sleep  more  than  the  strength  for 
which  the  sleep  is  given." 

At  another  time  there  came  a  message  that  the  older 
brother  of  the  sheik  was  ill,  and  had  sent  for  him.  The 
sheik  rode  across  the  desert  on  the  swiftest  dromedary, 
and  took  with  him  his  third  son.  Two  days  they  rode; 
two  days  they  watched  with  the  dying  man;  two  days 
they  joined  in  the  lamentations  over  him,  and  for  two 
days  they  rode  on  their  return. 

On  the  eighth  day,  as  the  sun  went  down,  the  boy 
asked  leave  of  his  father  to  speak,  and  said,  "  Why  do 
my  cousins  dress  in  shawls  of  Cashmere,  in  silks  of 
Ispahan,  and  wear  clasps  of  gold  and  pearl  from 
Sereudib,  while  we  are  dressed  in  camel's  hair  and 
wool  of  our  own  flocks  and  herds,  which  my  sisters 
spun  and  my  mother  wove  ?  " 


140  AN    ARABIAN    TALE. 

And  liis  father  said:  "  Are  you  not  as  warm  as  they? 
Are  you  not  as  strong  as  they  ?  Are  not  your  clothes 
as  easy  for  running  or  for  riding?  " 

And  the  boy  said:  "On  the  evening  when  we  came  to 
the  camp  there  was  a  wrestling  match.  I  threw  all  my 
cousins  in  their  turn;  and  when  the  turn  came  round, 
I  threw  them  all  again.  "Wo  have  ridden  in  two  days 
so  far  that  the  ravens  are  weary  of  following.  You  know 
if  I  have  asked  to  dismount,  or  to  draw  rein." 

And  the  father  rejoined :  "  Our  clothes  are  given  us  to 
screen  us  from  sun  and  rain,  and  the  pestilence  which 
walketh  in  darkness.  If  your  clothing  is  simpler  than 
your  kinsmen's,  it  is  that  you  may  not  be  tempted  to 
value  the  thing  more  than  the  strength  and  swiftness 
for  which  the  thing  is  given." 

Again  the  word  came  that  the  chiefs  and  their  children 
should  carry  each  his  offering  to  the  temple  at  Mecca. 
And  this  father,  with  his  wife  and  his  children  and  forty 
attendants  went  to  the  holy  city,  with  fifty  camels  and 
fifty  horses.  The  offering  that  he  made  was  bezoar  and 
onyx  and  myrrh.  Seventy  days  were  they  in  going,  in 
sojourning,  and  in  returning. 

On  the  seventieth  day,  as  they  approached  the 
date-palms  which  they  knew,  the  fourth  son  asked 
leave  to  speak  to  his  father,  and  said:  "Why  do  the 
people  of  the  city  go  to  the  mosque  to  worship  God,  and 
we  kneel  beneath  the  open  sky?  " 

And  his  father  was  troubled,  and  his  countenance 
fell,  and  he  said:  "Since  we  left  the  city  have  either  of 
your  brothers  or  your  sisters  spoken  untruly  ?  " 

"  Never,  my  father." 

"Or  impurely?" 

"Never." 

"Or  meanly?" 


AN    ARABIAN     TALE. 

"Never/"' 

"Have  they  turned  from  a  beggar?  Have  they  failed 
to  share  their  salt?  " 

"Never." 

' '  Have  they  refused  to  their  mother  all  that  was  her 
due?" 

"Never." 

"And  has  God  seemed  far  away  from  you  because  the 
sky  is  higher  than  the  temple  dome  ?" 

"Never  so  near,  my  father,  as  when  I  sleep  on  the 
sands  beneath  the  stars." 

And  his  father  said,  "The  temple  is  built  lest  in 
cities  men  forget  the  God  of  love.  If  you  worship 
beneath  the  stars,  it  is  that  you  may  not  be  tempted  to 
honor  the  stones  more  than  Him  who  made  the  stones;  to 
value  his  house  more  than  Him  who  dwells  everywhere." 

At  last  the  old  man  was  sick  unto  death.  His  four 
oldest  sons  had  gone  with  their  households,  one  north, 
one  south,  one  east,  one  west.  He  called  his  youngest 
son  to  close  his  eyes,  and  said  to  him:  "My  son,  hast 
thou  ever  seen  Satan  ?" 

And  the  son  said  "Never" 

His  father  said,  "Yet  you  have  been  at  feasts  of  the 
heads  of  tribes,  where  the  revels  lasted  many  days." 

The  son  said,   "  Others  saw  him  there,  but  not  I." 

His  father  pursued,  "You  lived  many,  many  months 
among  princes  of  Cairo,  where  men  seek  pleasure  and 
pay  for  it  with  money." 

The  son  said,   "  Others  saw  him  there,  but  not  I." 

The  father  said,  "Not  where  I  sent  you  to  join  the 
caravans  of  merchants  at  Medina?" 

The  son  answered,   "If  others  saw  him  there,  not  I." 

The  father  said,  "Not  when  you  lived  among  the 
learned  men  and  doctors  at  Tabriz  ?" 


142  AT    LAST. 

And  the  son  said,  "  If  others  saw  him  there,  not  I." 
And  the  father  said,  "It  is  enough.  My  boy,  if 
your  children  are  not  tempted  by  the  flesh,  they  will 
not  be  tempted  by  the  eye;  if  the  eye  is  pure,  the  head 
will  be  strong;  if  the  head  be  strong,  the  heart  will  be 
true;  if  the  heart  is  true,  your  child  will  know  his  God. 
My  son,  pray  for  your  children,  that  they  enter  not  into 
temptation." 

And  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  he  died.  And 
his  five  sons  are  the  chiefs  known  as  the  Five  Stars  of 
Koreisch— pure,  peaceful,  gentle,  true,  and  brave. 


AT  LAST. 

BY  GEORGE  C.  HURLBUT. 

WE  met  beneath  the  overarching  trees; 
I  held  thy  hand,  how  calmly!  in  my  own, 
Thy  dark  eyes  on  me  for  a  moment  shone, 
Deep  with  the  depth  of  silent  sympathies, 
And  longings  yet  unbreathed:  all  the  soul  sees 
That  might  be  in  the  vast  and  vague  unknown 
Of  life,  and  death,  and  love;  and  Love  alone, 
Life's  lord  and  death's,  filled  all  those  silences 
That  fell  between  us:  and  the  words  we  read 
Under  the  noon,  beside  the  shining  lake, 
With  whispers  of  the  forest;  and  the  flush 
Of  sunset,  the  pale  stars,  and  night,  that  fled 
Dreamful,  and  day's  young  beauty; — what  shall  make 
These  cease  to  be,  or  teach  unrest  to  hush? 


THE     WORLD     OWES     ME     A     LIVING.  143 


THE  WOKLD  OWES  ME  A  LIVING. 

BY  A.  S.  HALLIDIE. 

IF  the  world  owes  you  a  living,  why  does  it  not  owe  a 
living  to  every  one  ?  And  if  to  every  one,  by  the  sweat 
of  whose  brow  should  that  living  be  made  ? 

Nature  is  unequal  in  its  gifts,  and  its  gifts  are  un 
equally  distributed.  While  some  localities  teem  with 
all  the  luxuries  that  prodigality  and  abundance  can 
command,  others  are  barely  provided  with  enough  to 
sustain  the  inferior  life  existing  there.  The  ever  re 
curring  production  and  reproduction  of  life,  going  on 
with  endless  effort,  and  producing  in  the  briefest  exist 
ence  of  the  most  minute  animal,  the  various  stages  be 
tween  infancy  and  senility,  each  full  of  its  activities,  in 
dicate  that  life  has  to  be  earned  by  the  individual 
efforts  of  the  most  insignificant.  It  would  indeed  be  an 
unfortunate  condition  if  it  could  truly  be  said  by  any 
one  that  the  world  owes  him  a  living;  and  it  would  be  a 
monstrous  perversion  of  the  scriptural  injunction  to 
man  to  "  earn  his  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow.'7 

If  the  world  really  owes  a  living,  and  provides  not  by 
the  spontaneous  growth  of  life-giving  elements,  what  re 
mains  for  man  but  death  ?  Such  a  statement  can  only 
be  the  expression  of  sheer  despair  or  utter  shiftlessness; 
and  the  young  man  who  believes  that  the  world  owes 
him  a  living,  must,  from  the  very  nature  of  things,  while 
acting  the  part  of  a  parasite,  become  an  outcast.  Such 
a  sentiment  as  this  cannot  be  spontaneous,  because 
the  natural  habits  of  life  are  active,  and  directed  in  a 
greater  or  lesser  degree  to  economic  ends;  its  existence 
indicates  a  low  standard  of  morals,  a  laxity  of  public 
spirit,  an  absence  of  ordinary  parental  training,  and  can 


144  THE     WORLD     OWES     ME    A    LIVING. 

only  be  suggested  by  excuse  or  generated  by  indolence. 
This  sentiment  cannot  exist  where  the  proper  princi 
ples  of  life  Lave  been  instilled  in  youth,  and  a  neglect 
so  to  do  brings  in  return  a  curse  on  the  parents,  doubly 
disastrous,  developing  at  a  period  of  life  when  youths 
are  least  able  to  resist  its  terrors ! 

The  world  owes  no  one  a  living;  on  the  contrary,  no 
person  in  ordinary  health  can  live  in  indolence  and  be 
morally  good.  Every  one  must  earn  enough,  at  least, 
to  feed  and  clothe  himself.  He  who  fails  in  thus  direct 
ing  the  intelligence  of  his  child,  fails  in  one  of  the  most 
essential  duties  of  life,  and  commits  a  crime  against  his 
fellow-beings.  Moreover,  early  instruction  and  prac 
tice  in  habits  of  industry,  discipline  the  mind  and  body 
so  that  at  maturity  the  labors  of  life  are  lightened  from 
the  fact  that  the  heavier  duties  are  performed  cheer 
fully;  and  thus  by  a  better  balancing  of  the  faculties, 
there  is  a  fuller  appreciation  of  the  good  and  the  beau 
tiful,  and  man  becomes  more  and  more  in  the  image  of 
his  Maker.  As  indolence  is  the  mother  of  evil,  does 
not  the  failure  to  correct  that  indolence  when  it  is  the 
duty  and  in  the  power  of  one  to  inculcate  habits  of  in 
dustry  in  others,  make  him  particeps  criminis  ?  Many 
of  the  vices  and  crimes  of  youth  in  this  city  are  doubt 
less  caused  by  that  depraved  sentiment  that  the  world 
owes  them  a  living.  The  world  owes  the  profligate 
nothing  but  ruin !  a  debt  it  is  sure  to  pay,  if  they  do  not 
reform.  For  man,  the  most  perfect  creation  of  the  Al 
mighty — full  of  mental  and  physical  activity — to  be  a 
non-producer,  is  against  all  reason,  all  law,  and  all  na 
ture. 

But  society  and  fashion  do  not  fancy  the  common 
forms  of  industry,  and  look  with  contempt  on  hands 
hardened  and  stained  by  honest  labor.  Out  upon  such 


THE    WOULD    OWES    ME    A    LIVING.  145 

society!  It  is  unworthy  of  the  age  and  unworthy  of  it 
self.  It  exists  only  by  consent  of  that  miserable  public 
sentiment  which  panders  to  pride  and  wealth  and  scoffs 
at  humility  and  poverty.  Yet  the  public  sentiment  can 
live  only  through  the  public,  and  if  that  public  is  the 
people,  where  then  does  that  sentiment  spring  from,  and 
in  whose  hands  is  the  corrective?  Among  so  much  that 
is  grievous  and  which  exists  by  the  silent  acquiescence 
of  the  aggrieved,  there  are  signs  of  better  times  and 
better  things.  Our  duty  as  simple  citizens  is  to  see 
that  labor  and  industry  be  honorable,  and  being  honor 
able,  that  they  be  nurtured  into  strength,  so  that  they 
may  rise  above  the  false  sentimentality  of  the  day,  and 
assert  themselves  in  the  interest  of  good  morals  and 
good  government. 

To  this  end  let  us  create  opportunities  for  industrial 
development.  See  that  willing  hands  and  clear  heads 
have  productive  work;  and  more  especially  that  the 
youths  of  our  country  be  encouraged  in  the  first  duty 
to  the  State,  to  help  the  commonwealth  by  their  intelli 
gent  labor  honestly  directed,  and  we  may  rest  in  the 
trust  that  we  shall  soon  have  a  Christian,  God-fearing 
people  in  California. 


*     *     The  following  quotation  from  "Hamlet, "  is  the  most  appro 
priate  that  I  can  recall  at  present;  I  trust  it  will  meet  your  wishes. 
Truly  yours, 

EDWIN  BOOTH. 

"L?  it  be  now,  'tis  not  to  come;  if  it  be  not  to  come,  it 
will  be  now;  if  it  be  not  now,  yet  it  will  come:  the  readiness 
is  all:  Since  no  man  has  aught  of  what  he  leaves,  what  is  't 
to  leave  betimes?" 
10 


146  A   MILLIONAIRE'S   DREAM. 


A  MILLIONAIRE'S  DREAM. 

BY  BRACEBKIDGE  HEMYNa. 

MONOPOLIES  and  monopolists  are  by  no  means  con 
fined  to  the  Eastern  and  Northern  states.  The  art  of 
amassing  money  and  controlling  enormous  vested  inter 
ests  flourishes  to  a  great  extent  on  the  Pacific  slope, 
•where  the  dreams  of  Aladdin  and  his  wonderful  lamp 
have  been  fully  realized.  To  us  the  names  of  Vander- 
bilt,  Stewart  and  Astor,  Belmont,  Morgan  and  Ship- 
man,  are  synonymous  with  fabulous  sums;  but  Sharon, 
Jones,  Flood  and  O'Brien  are  to  Californians  what  the 
former  are  to  New  Yorkers.  It  is  but  thirty  years  ago 
that  a  few  Argonauts  went  out  in  search  of  the  Golden 
Fleece,  and  found  it  in  the  Golden  State.  Then  began 
the  days  of  the  new  El  Dorado.  Then  it  was  that  the 
gold  fever  attracted  people  from  all  parts  of  the  world 
to  that  wonderful  shore,  the  beds  of  whose  rivers  were 
like  that  of  fabled  Pactolus,  said  to  be  strewn  with  yel 
low  gold.  California  went  through  the  experience  which 
Australia  had  formerly  undergone.  The  hardy  'Forty- 
niners  built  up  for  themselves  a  splendid  city,  which 
to-day  is  the  pride  of  the  Union,  and  large  fortunes  be 
came  the  order  of  the  day.  A  name  to  conquer  with, 
until  within  a  few  years  ago,  was  that  of  Ralston,  who 
was  the  leading  man  of  the  far  west.  His  energy  was 
prodigious,  his  power  immeasurable,  his  ambition  un 
bounded;  but  he  fell,  as  we  all  know,  and  died  one  day 
while  bathing  in  the  bay.  It  is  unquestionable  that  he 
was  drowned,  but  opinion  was  divided  at  the  time  as  to 
whether  he  was  drowned- accidentally  or  by  design.  It 
is  not  our  purpose  to  discuss  that  matter,  but  we  say 
unhesitatingly  that  when  Mr.  Ralston  died,  California 


A   MILLIONAIRE'S   DREAM.  147 

lost  ono  of  its  best  men,  a  public-spirited  citizen,  and  a 
man  who  was  always  using  his  great  wealth  to  the  best 
advantage.  Many  are  the  stories  told  about  him  in  San 
Francisco,  redounding  to  his  advantage.  If  a  business 
man,  with  an  idea,  wanted  capital  to  give  him  a  start, 
he  applied  to  Ralston,  who  seldom,  if  ever,  sent  him 
empty-handed  away.  He  did  not  believe  in  giving  alms, 
for  it  is  notorious  that  charity  leaves  a  man  as  poor  as 
it  found  him,  but  he  would  help  a  man  to  help  himself. 

"  I  went  to  Kalston,"  a  prosperous  gentleman  told  us, 
"  when  I  wanted  to  start  in  the  lumber  business  at  Cal- 
istoga.  He  looked  at  me,  without  speaking  a  word, 
until  he  had  heard  all  I  had  to  say,  and  I  could  see  he 
was  weighing  my  words  and  reckoning  up  their  value 
all  the  time. 

"'You'll  want  about  five  thousand  dollars,' he  ex 
claimed  when  I  had  finished,  'and  you  can  afford  to 
pay  seven  per  cent,  for  it.' 

"  That  was  precisely  what  I  had  reckoned  on  myself, 
though  I  had  not  hinted  at  any  sum,  and  it  showed  the 
man's  business  capacity  and  penetration  to  reckon  it  so 
exactly.  I  intimated  that  it  would  do  very  well,  thanked 
him  for  taking  so  much  interest  in  me,  and  told  him  I 
should  owe  my  success  in  life  to  him. 

11  'Don't  waste  your  breath,'  he  said  in  the  same  im 
passive  manner,  'you  haven't  got  it  yet;  call  on  me  in 
a  week  from  to-day.' 

"  I  retired,  and  subsequently  ascertained  that  he  had 
sent  some  one  to  make  inquiries  about  me.  These  were 
apparently  satisfactorily  answered,  for  when  I  again  pre 
sented  myself  at  the  Bank  of  California  he  had  every 
thing  arranged  for  me. 

' '  Giving  me  a  nod,  he  handed  me  a  document  to  read 
and  sign,  after  which  he  handed  me  a  check  for  tne 
amount,  the  same  having  been  already  drawn  out. 


148  A    MILLIONAIRE'S    DREAM. 

"  'There's  your  money,'  lie  exclaimed,  'you  can  keep 
it  till  it  suits  you  to  pay  it,  but  if  you  don't  pay  the  inter 
est  promptly,  I  shall  think  I  have  been  deceived  in  you 
as  a  business  man,  and  shut  you  up  without  any  warn 
ing.  I  want  men  to  work  for  me.  I  must  have  workers. 
Scheming  is  no  good  without  work.  Remember  that. 
Good  clay.' 

"Of  course  I  took  very  excellent  care  that  he  should 
find  me  a  worker,  and  he  never  had  cause  to  complain 
of  his  investment." 

Halston  firmly  believed  that  the  best  way  to  develop 
a  new  country  was  to  stimulate  enterprise,  and  even  the 
socialists  of  San  Francisco,  who  look  with  envy,  hatred 
and  malice  on  the  dwellings  on  Nob  Hill,  say  that  they 
would  not  hate  capital  so  bitterly  if  the  capitalists  would 
help  the  struggling  poor.  But  as  a  rule  capital  has  a 
tendency  to  seek  safe  investments.  It  has  been  well 
said  that  nothing  is  so  timid  as  one  million  of  dollars, 
except — two  millions.  In  England,  capital  goes  into 
the  three  per  cent,  consols;  in  France  into  the  four  per 
cent,  rentes;  and  in  America  we  have  just  seen  fifty 
millions  of  four  and  one  half  per  cent,  bonds  sold  by 
the  syndicate.  Ralston  was  the  friend  of  the  producer. 
He  created  a  class  and  then  took  their  money.  He  did 
not  find  them  ready  made  to  his  hand.  He  unfortu 
nately  excited  the  jealousy  of  other  speculators,  and  he 
owed  his  downfall  to  a  heavy  combination  against  him 
on  the  part  of  Flood  and  O'Brien.  When  he  fell  and 
passed  away  he  left  a  splendid  record  behind  him.  His 
affairs  went  into  the  hands  of  Sharon,  who  acquired 
nearly  the  whole  of  his  property.  Senator  Sharon  is 
now  the  owner  of  the  Palace  Hotel,  which  is  the  grand 
est  in  the  world.  We  are  familiar  with  the  Grand,  the 
Louvre,  the  Splenclide,  in  Paris;  the  Langham,  the  Char- 


A   MILLIONAIRE'S   DEEAM.  149 

ing  Cross,  the  Palace  and  the  Cannon-Street,  in  London; 
we  have  sojourned  at  the  Palmer  House  and  the  Grand 
Pacific  in  Chicago;  New  York  and  Saratoga  hotels  have 
given  us  a  temporary  home,  but  beyond  all  comparison 
the  Palace  Hotel  in  San  Francisco  is  the  finest  of  them 
all.  This  was  the  offshoot  of  Kalston's  genius,  and  so 
vast  is  his  caravansary,  and  so  great  the  expense  of  con 
ducting  it,  that  it  does  not  pay  without  a  daily  average 
of  seven  hundred  guests.  In  this  enterprise  he  was  a 
little  in  advance  of  his  time  and  the  requirements  of  his 
city,  but  under  the  able  management  of  Warren  Leland, 
that  prince  of  caterers,  the  hotel  has  been  made  to  pay 
expenses.  Ralston  lived  at  a  house  he  built  for  himself 
under  the  shadow  of  the  .Redwood  Hills  at  Belmont,  a 
few  miles  by  railroad  from  San  Francisco.  Everything 
that  taste  could  suggest  and  money  supply  was  central 
ized  at  Belmont.  Here  it  pleased  him  to  surround  him 
self  with  society.  If  any  people  at  all  notable  in  any 
way  were  staying  in  San  Francisco,  his  hospitality  was 
sure  to  be  extended  to  them,  and  the  fame  of  Belmont 
and  its  princely  entertainer  spread  all  over  the  civilized 
world.  He  would  be  up  at  daybreak  in  the  morning, 
driving  about  his  estate,  making  alterations  here  and 
improvements  there;  at  ten  he  would  be  in  the  city, 
leaving  his  guests  to  enjoy  themselves  as  they  thought 
fit.  There  were  sixty  horses  in  his  stable,  as  many  as 
the  Prince  of  Wales  keeps  at  Marlborough  House,  Lon 
don.  W'ines  of  the  choicest  vintage  sparkled  on  his 
tables,  and  the  dinners  were  always  the  best  that  money 
could  provide  and  a  Parisian  cook  prepare.  He  in 
tended  to  go  on  beautifying  and  adding  to  his  country 
house*until  it  was  perfect.  Here  he  intended  to  spend 
his  declining  years,  surrounded  by  luxury,  comfort,  and 
that  solace  which  troops  of  friends  can  alone  give  to  the 
high  minded  humanitarian. 


150 

"I  don't  live  for  myself,"  said  he  frequently;  " I  live 
for  the  people."  He  might  have  added  that  he  lived  for 
the  world,  and  his  example  ought  certainly  to  be  handed 
down  to  posterity;  for  though  a  millionaire,  he  was 
also  a  philanthropist.  He  loved  money,  but  he  loved 
his  kind  also,  and  he  looked  upon  wealth  as  a  means  of 
doing  practical  good.  He  did  not  come  to  you  with  a 
tract  in  one  hand  and  a  dollar  in  the  other.  He  looked 
upon  man  as  a  working  animal,  and  he  wanted  to  see 
everybody  doing  something.  Stagnation  and  a  dead 
lock  of  idle  poverty  was  what  he  hated.  It  is  sad  that 
he  was  cut  off  in  his  prime,  for  he  did  not  live  to  enjoy 
Belmont,  or  even  complete  it,  as  he  had  wished.  It  is 
a  strange  parody  on  his  intentions,  that  the  proprietors 
of  the  Palace  Hotel  talk  of  converting  Belmont  into  a 
country  villa,  for  the  accommodation  of  visitors  to  the 
hotel  who  wish  to  get  away  from  the  noise  and  bustle  of 
the  city.  Perhaps  Ralston  would  not  have  objected  to 
such  a  use  being  made  of  his  house,  because  it  is  mak 
ing  it  serviceable.  Better  that  than  to  have  it  idle  and 
shut  up.  Last  year,  being  in  San  Francisco,  we  were 
invited  by  Mr.  Sharon  to  spend  a  few  days  at  Belmont. 
It  is  prettily  situated,  and  capable  of  accommodating 
over  fifty  visitors.  The  rooms  are  spacious,  and  ele 
gantly  furnished.  The  walls,  even  to  the  stair-case,  are 
hung  with  oil  paintings,  but  they  are  very  poor  speci 
mens  of  the  artist's  handiwork.  Evidently  Ealston  was 
not  a  judge  of  paintings;  but  what  seemed  most  strange 
was  that  he  had  no  library.  Here  was  a  curious  omis 
sion.  There  was  not  a  book  in  the  house.  Probably  his 
reading  was  confined  to  the  daily  newspaper  and  a  spe 
cial  study  of  the  stock  list  and  price-current.  We'kuow 
that  his  existence  was  not  one  of  lettered  ease.  He  had 
little  or  no  time  for  reading.  May  be  he  intended  to 


A  MILLIONAIRE'S  DREAM.  151 

make  up  for  that  when  he  retired  from  business.  It  is 
certainly  characteristic  of  a  new  country  that  there  is 
very  little  reading  done  in  it;  that  comes  afterwards. 
At  first  the  struggle  for  existence  is  so  fierce  that  books 
are  a  superflous  luxury.  The  open-handed  hospitality 
of  the  West  was  well  preserved  in  him.  Horses  and 
carriages  were  at  one's  disposal  all  day  long.  "We  were 
given  dinners  which  were  banquets;  in  a  hall  near  the 
billiard-room,  placed  on  a  buffet  were,  night  and  day, 
decanters  of  wines  and  spirits  and  boxes  of  cigars.  You 
were  not  asked  if  you  would  drink  or  smoke.  You 
knew  it  was  there,  and  all  you  had  to  do  was  to  go  and 
help  yourself  when  you  had  a  mind  to. 

"  Was  it  so  in  Kalston's  time?"  we  asked. 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  reply.  "He  always  said,  'give 
'em  all  they  want,  and  don't  let  'em  have  to  ask  for  it."7 

Is  not  this  the  true  essence  of  politeness?  Could 
any  of  the  oiled  and  curled  scions  of  the  house  of  Yere 
de  Vere,  in  whose  veins  runs  the  blood  of  Norman  Earls, 
do  more?  We  think  not.  This  ready  hospitality  of 
the  West  speaks  for  itself. 

Kalston  lived  at  a  time  when  money  was  more  easily 
made  than  it  is  now.  In  these  days,  the  San  Franciscans 
look  at  a  silver  dollar  before  they  spend  it,  and  hang  on 
to  their  huge  twenty-dollar  gold  pieces  until  obliged  to 
break  them.  Consolidated  Virginia  stock  is  not  now 
selling  at  $500  a  share,  and  you  can  buy  Hale  &  Nor- 
cross  or  Exchequer  for  a  song.  Last  April  we  were  in 
the  Stock  Exchange  building  with  Mr.  McDonald,  the 
great  "bear"  operator.  Our  conversation  lasted  twenty 
minutes.  "  Do  I  look  excited?"  he  asked.  "Not  at 
all,"  we  replied.  "I  thought  perhaps,"  he  continued, 
"that  I  might  have  been  a  little  absent-minded,  for  I 
was  listening  to  the  voices  of  the  brokers.  While  I 


152  A  MILLIONAIRE'S  DUEAM. 

have  been  conversing  with  you  I  have  made  just 
seventy  thousand  dollars ! "  * '  I  suppose, "  we  remarked, 
"that  in  Ealston's  time  things  were  even  livelier  than 
that?"  "You  can  bet  they  were,"  he  rejoined.  "I 
have  seen  Ealston  come  in  here,  and  his  brokers  have 
turned  over  a  quarter  of  a  million  for  him  before  lunch- 
time.  We  are  no  slouches  here." 

We  went  away  wishing  that  we  were  a  "bear,"  and 
that  the  mantle  of  Ealston  had  descended  on  our  shoul 
ders.  Undoubtedly  there  has  been  more  speculation  in 
stocks — the  mushroom  mines  of  California  and  Nevada — 
in  San  Francisco,  within  the  last  ten  years,  than  any 
where  else  since  the  days  of  the  Tulip  mania  in  Holland, 
John  Law's  Mississippi  scheme  in  Paris,  and  the  South 
Sea  bubble  in  London.  Everybody  speculated.  The 
woman  who  washed  your  clothes  at  a  dollar  a  dozen 
had  twenty  shares  in  the  Best  &  Belcher;  and  the 
hack  driver  who  took  you  home  from  the  theater  was 
happy  in  the  possession  of  a  dozen  in  Ophir.  The  air 
reeked  with  speculation.  The  wealth  of  the  country 
was  believed  to  be  fabulous  and  inexhaustible.  The 
millenniam  was  at  hand,  and  everybody  was  going  to  be 
rich  and  die  happy.  How  far  this  expectation  was  re 
alized,  Mr.  Kearney  and  his  socialists  will  probably  tell 
us.  Ealston  never  thought  he  was  going  to  be  poor. 
At  one  time  the  bare  idea  of  any  one  getting  a  "  corner" 
on  him  in  gold,  would  have  seemed  supremely  ridiculous. 
But  those  things  which  we  deem  the  most  unlikely  to 
happen  are  often  the  first  to  occur.  Many  of  the  dwell 
ers  in  Menlo  Park  miss  their  rich  neighbor  very  much. 
The  expression  of  regret  is  well  nigh  universal.  "There 
is  no  man  like  him  now,  sir,"  said  one  of  his  old  ser 
vants-.  "  Times  have  changed;  things  are  notwhat  they 
used  to  be." 


A   MILLIONAIRE'S   DREAM.  153 

1 '  What  do  you  mean?"  we  inquired,  eager  for  inform 
ation. 

' '  He'd  go  about  among  the  folks,  and  if  he  saw  any 
one  doing  well,  he'd  help  him  to  do  better,  and  if  he 
saw  a  fellow  going  down  the  hill,  for  no  fault  of  his 
own,  he'd  put  the  financial  skid  on  and  just  make  things 
go  the  other  way." 

"You  regret  his  death,  then  ?'7 

"I  do,  indeed,  sir.  This  house  doesn't  seem  like 
itself  at  all.  Senator  Sharon  is  seldom  here  and  the 
place  is  dead.  It's  Belmont  no  more." 

It  is  evident  Kalston  was  the  presiding  genius,  and 
that  whatever  importance  the  place  possessed  has  de 
parted.  It  was  his  dream;  the  dream  of  a  millionaire. 
An  empty,  vanished  phantasm,  if  you  will,  but  still  the 
yearning  of  a  great  mind.  He  wanted  to  show  the 
world  what  he  could  do  with  his  millions  in  this  charm 
ingly  romantic  little  spot  under  the  redwoods.  It  was 
to  be  a  standing  monument  to  his  name.  People  were 
to  associate  him  with  Belmont  and  Belmont  with  him. 
For  this  purpose  he  lavished  hundreds  of  thousands 
upon  it.  With  this  end  in  view  he  kept  open  house. 
It  was  his  pride  and  his  hobby.  When  Cleopatra  dis 
solved  a  pearl,  worth  a  king's  ransom,  in  vinegar  and 
drank  it,  she  did  it  to  make  her  name  go  down  to  pos 
terity.  WThen  Erostratus  set  fire  to  the  temple  of  Diana 
at  Ephesus,  he  wanted  to  be  remembered  forever  as 
having  destroyed  one  of  the  seven  wonders  of  the  world. 
So  it  was  with  Kalston.  His  darling  Belmont,  when 
it  was  completed  as  he  intended  to  complete  it,  would 
live  after  he  was  dead  and  be  talked  of  as  is  the 
Duke  of  Devonshire's  Chatsworth,  or  the  famous 
"Stowe,"  over  which  Buckingham  expended  two  for 
tunes.  Lately  we  have  seen  the  great  financier,  Albert 


151  A   MILLIONAIRE'S  DREAM. 

Grant,  building  himself  a  mansion  at  Kensington  for 
XSOOjOOO,  and  failing  before  its  completion.  Fre 
quently  the  dreams  of  millionaires  are  not  destined  to 
be  realized.  Fortune  plays  with  them  as  a  cat  does 
with  a  mouse.  She  raises  them  to  the  highest  pinnacle 
of  prosperity,  only  to  dash  them  headlong  into  the  abyss 
of  failure  and  despair.  Daniel  Drew  is  an  example  of 
this;  Pacific  Mail  Stockwell  is  another;  B6nner  is  a 
third.  We  might  amplify  the  list,  but  it  is  enough  to 
say  that  every  country  has  its  Ealstons,  and  their  fates 
are  very  similar  in  many  cases. 

Possibly,  if  the  idea  of  the  Palace  Hotel  authorities  is 
carried  out,  and  Belmont  becomes  a  summer  villa  for 
the  hotel  residents,  the  very  name  of.  Belmont  will  sink 
into  oblivion.  The  mansion  will  be  called  the  "  Palace 
Villa,"  and  be  made  a  little  chapel  of  ease  for  the  big 
building  in  the  town.  People  will  not  ask  themselves 
who  built  it,  and  all  they  will  bother  themselves  about 
will  be  paying  their  bills  and  seeing  that  they  have 
such  accommodation  as  their  money  is  worth.  The  mil 
lionaire's  dream  will  not  be  realized.  No  one  will  in 
the  future  associate  Belmont  with  him.  When  those 
who  have  known  him — and  the  '49-ers  are  dying  out 
rapidly — have  passed  away  to  find  a  last  resting-place 
under  the  green  sod,  no  one  will  think  of  the  bold  specu 
lator  and  the  brilliant  schemer — the  ambitious  banker 
will  be  forgotten.  So  pass  the  glories  of  the  world. 
The  pyramids-  still  exist,  but  we  know  not  who  built 
them  or  what  their  design  was;  and  as  Byron  says  in 
Don  Juan : 

"  On  monuments  let  not  you  or  I  set  our  hopes, 
Since  not  a  pinch  of  dust  remains  of  Cheops." 

Mr.  Blackburn,  proprietor  of  the  Alhambra,  San 
Francisco,  himself  a  49-er,  said  to  us : 


REVERIE    IN    A    BALLOON.  155 

"The  death  of  such  men  as  Ralston  is  an  irreparable 
misfortune  for  our  community;  he  cannot  be  replaced. 
We  feel  it  every  day." 

"  But  you  have  other  men  as  public-spirited?" 
"No,  sir.    We  are  corning  down  to  rock  bottom.     If 
I  may  parody  a  popular  song,  I  will  say: 

'  He  was  a  man  cut  off  in  the  height  of  his  bloom, 
Brought  down  to  hard  pan,  and  gone  up  the  flume/ 

"Why,  sir,  it  don't  pay  me  now  to  give  a  cold  boiled 
salmon  for  a  free  lunch.  That's  how  things  are  in 
'Frisco.  Many  a  young  fellow  who  has  come  on  here 
from  the  east,  hoping  to  make  a  fortune,  has  been  glad 
to  take  up  with  sheep-herding  in  the  Sierras.  We  live 
fast  here,  and  can't  afford  to  starve.  Half  of  us  have 
forgotten  Balston,  and  nobody  but  a  stranger  thinks 
anything  of  Belmont." 

Poor  Balston;  poor  millionaire.  Alas!  for  his  dream. 
We  are  constrained  to  think  of  the  pathetic  line  in  the 
play  of  Bip  Van  Winkle : 

"  Are  we  so  soon  forgotten  when  we  are  dead  ?" 


BEVEBIE  IN  A   BALLOON. 

BY  Miss  LIZZIE  I.  WISE.    (Aeronaut.) 

WHENE'ER  I  mount  on  ether's  wing, 

To  seek  the  heavenly  air, 
To  hear  the  zephyr  angels  sing, 

It  fills  ray  soul  with  prayer. 

When  fleecy  clouds  around  me  play 

Like  spirits  of  the  air, 
And  fan  me  with  their  ambient  spray, 

I  feel  like  staying  there. 


156  GEOKGE    AND     I. 


GEOKGE  AND  I. 

BY  BARTON  HILL. 

GEORGE  S and  I  were  friends  and  close  compan 
ions,  years  ago,  in  Rochester,  New  York.  George 
worked  in  a  hardware  store,  and  I  in  the  composing- 
room  of  the  "  Rochester  Courier."  Misfortune  over 
took  us  by  the  burning  of  the  "  Courier  "  office  and  the 
closing  of  the  hardware  store,  within  a  few  days  of  each 
other,  and  we  found  it  very  difficult  to  pass  the  time, 
and  quite  impossible  to  find  employment.  Still,  we 
did  not  lose  heart,  but  every  evening  George  and  I  met 
at  his  mother's  house  to  frame  our  plan  of  application 
for  the  morrow,  and  to  listen  to  the  plaintive  Irish  bal 
lads  sung  by  his  two  sisters,  whilst  we  boys  played  an 
old-fashioned  rubber  at  whist  with  the  father  and 
mother.  We  were  as  hopefully  sanguine  as  boys  of 
that  age  always  are,  and  found  the  advertising  columns 
of  "  Help  Wanted  "  very  interesting  reading.  The  fore 
noon  of  each  following  day  was  consumed  in  vainly  an 
swering  the  advertisements,  and  in  the  afternoons  we 
kept  our  blood  and  spirits  active  by  brisk  walks,  often 
on  snow-shoes  that  we  had  brought  from  Lower  Can 
ada, — to  the  delight  of  the  curious  western  New  York 
ers,  who  hailed  us  "  Ka-nucks."  One  day,  a  Professor 
Eastman  came  to  town,  and  advertised  an  evening  class 
in  writing,  and  also  in  book-keeping  by  double  entry. 
Here  was  our  chance,  we  thought;  once  become  accom 
plished  penmen  and  thorough  book-keepers,  and  no  one 
would  reject  our  application  for  a  situation  again.  So 
we  entered  the  evening  class,  and  worked  so  earnestly 
that  George  and  I  were  soon  at  the  head  of  the  class, 
obtaining  our  diplomas  without  difficulty.  The  profes- 


GEORGE    AND     I.  157 

sor  paid  me  the  compliment  of  stating  to  the  scholars  that 
I  had  mastered  every  transaction,  manuscript  or  printed, 
that  it  was  in  his  power  to  assign  me,  and  that  I  was  in 
fact  as  competent  as  himself,  even  to  teach  the  science 
if  I  chose  to  do  so,  and  certainly  to  take  a  situation  as 
book-keeper  in  any  banking  or  business  house  in  the 
city.  Armed  with  such  credentials,  we  attacked  the 
advertisers  again  with  vigor,  only  to  meet  with  inglo 
rious  defeat,  until  the  question,  "  What  are  we  to  do?" 
became  a  serious  and  very  difficult  one  to  answer.  Sud 
denly  a  bright  idea  occurred  to  us — we  would  teach 
book-keeping!  We  felt  quite  competent  to  do  it,  and 
had  not  the  professor  assured  us  of  our  efficiency. 

A.t  once  our  young,  fresh  minds, — very  young,  very 
fresh, — were  made  up;  we  would  teach  book-keeping. 
Where  should  we  begin?  I  suggested  Belleville,  a 
thriving  little  town  in  western  Canada.  We  consulted 
our  pockets  and  the  map,  and  concluded  we  could  reach 
Belleville,  and  by  a  strict  economy  live  there  a  month, 
by  which  time  we  hoped  to  be  on  the  road  to  fortune  in 
our  new  vocation.  We  felt  sure  that  no  Professor  East 
man  had  ever  been  to  Belleville,  and  visions  of  a  well- 
filled  class  room,  the  gratitude  of  parents,  a  vote  of 
thanks  from  the  mayor  and  aldermen,  and  perhaps  the 
freedom  of  the  city,  made  our  lives  wearisome  until  we 
arrived  at  the  favored  ground  of  our  new  venture.  It 
was  a  lovely  spot,  quite  as  verdant  as  ourselves  and 
much  more  modest.  We  issued  our  advertisement: 
"Messrs — (well,  George  and  I),  Professors  of  book 
keeping  by  single  and  double  entry,  would  form  an 
evening  class,  or  give  special  instruction  at  their  own  or 
pupils'  residence.  Hours — nine  to  twelve  and  two  to 
five,  at  the  Belleville  House,  daily."  We  issued  circu 
lars,  too,  carrying  them  ourselves  to  the  "best  people 


158  GEORGE    AND    I. 

iii  the  city."  One  day,  two  days,  a  week,  two  weeks 
elapsed,  and  not  one  applicant  appeared  before  the  new 
Professors!  Evidently  there  were  no  books  to  keep  in 
Belleville!  George  and  I  were  astounded;  provinces 
were  surely  as  ungrateful  as  republics;  not  a  single  ap 
plicant  for  double  entry!  there  must  be  something  rot 
ten  in  the  state  of  Belleville.  That  chance  remark 
suggested  our  next  idea.  I  had  bought  a  new  edition 
of  Shakespeare,  just  issued,  edited  by  Professor  Hows 
(another  professor),  "for  schools  and  families,"  and 
from  which  "the  objectionable  passages  had  been  care 
fully  expunged."  And  I  also  had  an  "Acting  edition  of 
Hamlet,  arranged  in  three  Acts,  by  Walter  Gay."  Here 
was  our  opportunity. 

"Suppose  you  give  a  reading  of  Hamlet?"  said  George. 

"The  very  thing,  I'll  do  it!" 

The  affair  was  settled  at  once.  We  still  had  enough 
cash  left  to  hire  the  "  Odd  Fellows'  Hall,"  to  issue  more 
advertisements,  more  circulars,  a  single  sheet  announce- 
poster  for  the  walls,  and,  last  but  not  least,  the  tickets 
for  sale  at  the  music  and  bookstores. 

All  this  was  done;  the  hall  was  secured.  George 
and  I  rehearsed  each  evening  in  the  surrounding  woods, 
he  being  the  enthusiastic  and  admiring  audience,  and 
the  audience  assured  me  that  I  should  succeed.  The 
eventful  night  arrived.  The  doors  were  opened  at  half- 
past  seven;  the  reading  was  announced  to  commence  at 
eight.  There  was  no  gas  in  Odd  Fellows'  Hall,  so  we 
purchased  real  wax  candles,  cut  them  carefully  in  halves, 
and  tastefully  arranged  them  in  the  hanging  sconces. 
George  was  to  take  the  tickets  at  the  door,  and  I,  in 
evening  dress,  with  a  brand-new  pair  of  lavender  kid 
gloves,  nervously  awaited  the  trying  ordeal. 

Twenty  minutes  to  eight,  a  quarter,  ten  minutes,  five 


GEORGE     AND     I.  159 

— eight  o'clock  arrived,  and  not  a  soul  had  come  to  hear 
the  reading!  Nobody  wanted  to  hear  "Hamlet"  read 
in  Belleville!  Yes,  at  five  minutes  past  eight,  steps  were 
heard;  the  public  was  approaching;  our  spirits  mounted 
with  each  step,  and  sank  as  we  saw  the  owner  of  the 
hall,  accompanied  by  his  wife,  to  whom  we  had  sent  a 
complimentary  admission  ticket.  They  were  very  kind, 
and  sympathized  with  our  ill-success.  After  waiting  vain 
ly  for  a  third  comer,  the  gentleman  insisted  upon  our  tak 
ing  back  the  price  paid  for  the  hall,  and  generously 
offered,  if  we  would  wait  until  the  following  week,  to 
secure  a  good  attendance  by  his  personal  exertions. 
But  our  pride  was  too  deeply  wounded,  and  we  foolishly 
declined  the  offer,  with  grateful  thanks;  took  off  the  kid 
gloves,  pocketed  the  wax  candles,  and  returned  to  the 
hotel,  sadder,  but  not  wiser  boys. 

The  clerk  of  the  hotel  was  disgusted  with  the  apathy 
of  Belleville,  and  told  us  that  if  we  would  take  the 
morning  boat  for  Quimby,  a  few  miles  away,  we  could 
secure  the  Temperance  Hall  there,  and  merely  by  ad 
vertising  in  the  evening  paper,  and  the  aid  of  a  few 
letters,  that  he  spent  half  the  night  in  writing  for  us, 
he  answered  for  it,  that  we  should  have  a  crowded 
room,  and  return  with  a  substantial  evidence  of  the 
difference  in  literary  taste  between  Belleville  and 
Quimby.  He  was  a  Quimby  man  himself. 

George  and  I  not  only  took  his  advice,  but  the  morn 
ing  boat,  and  the  wax  caudles,  and  evening  dress,  and 
gloves,  and  the  volume  of  Shakspeare  "for  schools  and 
families,"  and,  finally,  the  Temperance  Hall  at  Quimby. 
The  only  thing  we  neglected  to  take  was  sufficient  time 
to  let  the  Quimbians  know  anything  about  it.  We 
lighted  the  wax  candles,  opened  the  doors,  took  our 
stations,  George  at  the  door  and  I  on  the  platform — and 


160  GEORGE    AND    I. 

patiently  waited  for  the  aesthetic  Quimbians.  But  they 
staid  at  home,  not  a  blessed  soul  arrived,  not  even  the 
owner  of  the  hall,  not  even  his  wife,  not  even  the  editor 
or  reporter  of  the  paper,  the  one  paper  of  Quimby,  that 
should  have  immortalized  me  as  a  reader!  Disdaining 
to  acknowledge  our  discomfiture,  we  took  down  the  wax 
candles,  took  off  the  gloves,  and  back  to  Belleville  wo 
went  the  following  day,  satisfied  that  we  were  living  in 
the  wrong  quarter  of  the  globe.  The  clerk  of  the  hotel 
charitably  accepted  my  silver  watch  as  compensation 
for  our  hotel  bill,  and  George  and  I  returned  to  Roches 
ter,  arriving  there  with  twenty-five  cents  each  in  our 
pockets,  minus  the  silver  watch,  but  plus  the  kid  gloves, 
the  wax  candles,  and  the  experience. 

Let  me  add  that  I  never  attempted  to  read  from 
Shakespeare  again,  that  is  to  say,  in  public,  and  that  I 
have  always  boasted  of  being  the  only  "leading  man  " 
who  never  attempted  Hamlet.  The  public  of  other 
cities  can  at  all  events  thank  Belleville  and  Quimby, 
Canada  West,  for  that  good  fortune;  but  what  I  might 
have  accomplished  in  the  character  will  never  be  known 
to  any  one,  save  "George  and  I." 


I  am  not  able  to  discover  the  town  or  village  of  Quimby  registered 
either  in  the  list  of  post  towns,  telegraph  stations,  Lippincott's  Gazeteer, 
or  any  map  of  Canada  procurable  in  California;  yet  it  is  impressed  upon 
my  memory  by  the  above  described  visit.  Either  that  visit  obliterated 
Quimby  from  existence,  or  Mr.  Lippincott  may  be  induced  by  this  true 
st:)ry  to  publish  it  in  his  next  edition  as  a  very  quiet,— too  quiet— but 
charming  little  town  upon  the  Bay  of  Quinte,  possessing  a  fine  hall,  but 

no  audience. 

B.  H. 


MINING    LIFE     AT     SHASTA.  161 


MINING  LIFE  AT  SHASTA  IN  1849. 

BY  JOHN  S.  HITTELL. 

IN  a  company  of  gold-hunting  adventurers,  which 
crossed  the  continent  with  ox-teams,  I  arrived  at  Shasta 
at  the  end  of  September  in  1819.  We  spent  more  than 
four  months  and  a  half  in  coming  from  the  Missouri 
river  to  the  Sacramento,  a  distance  which  I  have  since 
made  by  rail  in  less  than  four  days  and  a  half!  Most  of 
the  twenty  thousand  men  who  came  that  season  by  the 
"  South  Pass"  route,  through  the  valleys  of  the  Platte 
and  the  Humboldt,  had  ox^teams  and  walked  all  the 
way.  The  distance,  as  traveled  by  the  company  to 
which  I  belonged,  was  two  thousand  four  hundred 
miles,  including  three  hundred  miles  extra;  Lassen's 
"cut-off,"  as  it  was  called  for  the  purpose  of  deceit, 
being  so  much  longer  than  the  main  road  from  which 
we  were  induced  to  turn  off.  I  considered  myself  more 
fortunate  than  my  companions  generally,  for  after 
promenading  fifteen  hundred  miles,  I  found  an  oppor- 
portunity,  the  first  one  after  leaving  the  Missouri,  to 
buy  a  horse,  though  I  could  not  have  made  the  pur 
chase  if  his  back  had  not  been  sore,  and  his  skin  so 
tough  that  I  could  not  whip  him  into  a  trot.  But  the 
toil  of  walking  in  the  heat  and  dust  was  not  an  un 
mixed  misfortune.  Many  who  at  starting  were  pale,  thin, 
dyspeptic,  soft  in  muscle,  weak  in  appetite,  thin  in 
chest  and  languid  in  motion,  after  five  months  on  foot 
in  the  open  air  at  a  high  elevation,  found  themselves 
regenerated  physically,  looking  and  acting  as  if  from 
early  childhood  they  had  had  exceptional  health  and 
strength. 

On  the  Lassen  route  we  crossed  the  main  "  divide"  of 
11 


162  MINING    LIFE    AT    SHASTA. 

the  Sierra  Nevada  near  latitude  42°,  and  came  down 
through,  the  basins  of  the  Pitt  and  Feather  rivers  to  Sac 
ramento.  Our  impressions  of  California  on  our  way 
down  from  the  summit  were  most  unfavorable.  For 
nearly  two  hundred  miles  we  journeyed  among  rugged 
and  bare  mountains,  sage-brush  being  a  prominent  feat 
ure  of  the  vegetable  kingdom,  the  rattlesnakes  of  the 
animal  and  lava  of  the  mineral.  Water  and  grass  were 
scarcities;  our  cattle,  suffered  more  than  in  the  Hum- 
boldt  valley,  and  the  road  was  much  rougher  than  iu 
the  Rocky  mountains.  It  was  harder  to  descend  the 
Sierra  Nevada  on  the  west  than  to  ascend  on  the  east. 

Nor  when  we  reached  the  bank  of  the  Sacramento 
were  we  impressed  more  favorably.  Though  we  were 
at  the  base  of  an  immense  mountain  range,  there  were 
no  springs  and  no  brooks  flowing  out  across  the  valley 
into  the  main  stream.  The  country  looked  as  dry  as  a 
desert.  We  were  camped  near  the  home  of  an  American 
reputed  to  have  thousands  of  cattle,  but  he  had  no 
orchard,  no  garden,  no  cornfield,  no  green  pasture,  noth 
ing  like  cultivation.  Though  there  were  thousands  of 
cows,  no  milk,  butter  or  cheese  could  be  had.  There 
were  not  even  any  chickens.  We  could  explain  the  facts 
to  our  satisfaction  only  by  supposing  that  there  was 
something  in  the  soil  or  climate  unsuited  for  agriculture. 

The  few  white  men  appeared  to  be  thriftless.  They 
were  always  on  horseback,  or  had  their  horses  saddled 
and  bridled  at  the  door;  they  had  immense  spurs,  bits 
and  saddles  that  looked  cruel  to  us;  they  nearly  always 
rode  at  a  gallop;  they  dressed  in  Mexican  fashion,  con 
venient  enough  for  the  saddle  but  not  convenient  for 
ordinary  work;  and  we  never  saw  them  with  the  wagon, 
the  plow  or  the  axe,  which  we  had  been  accustomed 
to  see  as  the  constant  accompaniments  of  pioneer  life  in 
the  basin  of  the  Upper  Mississippi. 


MINING    LIFE    AT     SHASTA.  163 

Neither  did  the  domestic  ^conditions  present  any  at 
tractive  features  to  our  astonished  perceptions.  The 
Louses  had  no  flowers,  yards,  stables,  barns,,  or  out 
buildings.  The  walls  were  of  dried  mud  inside  and  out, 
with  no  floors  save  the  bare  earth.  The  kitchen  and 
bedroom  furniture  were  of  the  simplest  if  not  of  the 
shabbiest  pattern,  and  were  usually  filthy.  We  inquired 
whether  what  we  saw  was  not  exceptional,  and  were  told 
that  the  dwellings  which  we  had  the  opportunity  to  in 
spect  were  like  many  others  in  the  valley.  The  children 
were  growing  up  in  ignorance,  and  the  women  were 
slovenly.  Most  of  the  male  Indians  not  employed  as 
vaqueros  were  entirely  nude,  and  white  women  and  chil 
dren  seemed  to  think  no  more  of  their  nudity  than  of 
that  of  horses.  It  did  not  occur  to  us  that  we  should 
ever  want  to  spend  our  lives  in  California.  It  might  be 
rich  in  gold  but  was  certainly  poor  in  everything  else. 
My  dissatisfaction  with  the  country  was  heightened  by 
the  torture  of  the  poison-oak,  which  I  treated  with  dis 
respectful  familiarity  on  the  day  of  reaching  the  bank  of 
the  Sacramento,  and  I  did  not  get  rid  of  the  suffering 
for  several  years. 

Afterwards  we  learned  to  revise  many  of  our  opin 
ions  about  the  country  and  people.  The  circumstances 
were  entirely  different  from  those  to  which  we  had  been 
accustomed,  and  we  did  not  at  first  appreciate  the  char 
acter  or  the  extent  of  the  difference.  There  were  tem 
porary  or  local  reasons  for  the  Spanish  bit,  spur,  and 
saddle,  and  for  the  lack  of  milk,  chickens,  gardens, 
maize  fields  and  green  pastures.  It  is  enough  for  the 
present  to  say  that  the  country  which  I  thought  most 
repulsive,  became  to  me  in  a  few  years  the  most  at 
tractive. 

As  gold  hunting  was  our  business,  so  our  chief  inter- 


MINING    LIFE     AT    SHASTA. 

est  was  fixed  upon  the  mines.  We  had  seen  none  on 
our  way,  although  we  passed  over  ground  where  placers 
were  afterwards  found.  We  had  left  "the  States  "  in 
May,  1849,  when  very  little  gold  had  yet  reached  New 
York,  and  when  to  many  persons  it  was  doubtful 
whether  there  was  any  truth  in  the  rumors  of  the  gold 
discovery,  or  at  least  whether  there  would  be  room  in 
the  mines  for  a  tenth  of  the  people  who  had  already 
started  fur  them.  On  our  way  we  had  met  or  heard  of 
several  persons  who  brought  encouraging  reports  from 
the  mines,  but  these  reports  were  vague  and  meager, 
and  the  main  question,  whether  rich  diggings  would  be 
open  for  us,  was  still  to  be  settled.  So  soon  as  we 
camped  on  the  bank  of  the  Sacramento,  we  sent  men 
out  to  get  information  from  the  few  houses  and  tents 
within  five  or  six  miles  of  us.  The  accounts  brought 
in  at  night  were  very  satisfactory.  A  dozen  men  who 
had  been  at  the  mines,  in  response  to  questions,  said 
that  the  precious  metal  was  abundant,  and  would  be 
for  years.  Some  of  them  showed  large  purses  full  of  it, 
many  of  the  pieces  weighing  half  an  ounce  or  more. 
The  high  wages — sixteen  dollars  a  day  for  common 
labor, — though  there  was  no  demand  for  it  in  our  im 
mediate  vicinity;  and  the  high  prices  paid  for  merchan 
dise,  muslin  being  a  dollar  a  yard,  and  flour  half  a 
dollar  a  pound,  though  two  years  before  not  a  quarter 
so  much  was  charged,  were  cited  as  proofs  of  the  profits 
of  mining.  We  were  told  that  twenty  dollars  was  the 
average  yield  of  a  day's  work  in  the  mines,  in  the  rich 
districts,  but  that  the  more  skillful  and  industrious  men 
made  one  hundred  dollars,  and  the  lucky  ones  fre 
quently  got  five  hundred  dollars.  It  was  considered 
nothing  rare  for  a  man  to  get  together  fifteen  or  twenty 
thousand  dollars  in  two  or  three  months,  if  he  kept  a 


MINING    LIFE    AT     SHASTA.  165 

store  with  a  stock  of  mining  tools  and  provisions, 
which  in  the  Eastern  States  would  not  cost  one  thou 
sand  dollars.  We  confidently  anticipated  that  within  a 
year  we  should  each  have  twenty  thousand  dollars,  an 
amount  that  would  enable  us  to  return  home  and  live 
with  dignified  ease  in  our  old  homes. 

After  satisfying  ourselves  that  there  was  an  abun 
dance  of  gold  in  the  country,  the  next  point  was  to 
select  a  place  where  we  should  establish  ourselves. 
Special  committees  of  one  were  sent  out  again  to  the 
men  who  seemed  to  know  most  of  the  different  mining 
regions,  to  get  their  advice.  Their  opinions  were  con 
flicting.  One  who  had  visited  all  the  diggings  from  the 
Feather  river  to  the  Tuolumne,  said  the  Stanislaus  was 
the  richest;  another,  who  had  a  similar  experience,  pre 
ferred  the  Yuba;  the  North  Fork  of  the  American,  the 
Mokelumne,  and  the  Calaveras,  each  had  advocates. 
Several  who  had  been  at  Reading's  Diggings  argued 
that  they  were  the  best  for  us,  because  they  were  the 
newest,  the  richest,  the  most  remote  from  San  Fran 
cisco,  had  the  fewest  miners  in  proportion  to  their  ex 
tent,  would  not  be  crowded  till  the  next  summer  on 
account  of  the  difficulty  of  access,  and  we  were  already 
near  them ;  but  they  advised  us  not  to  go  unless  we 
were  able  to  take  abundant  supplies,  as  a  wet  winter 
might  make  the  roads  impassable.  There  were  no 
steamboats  on  the  river  above  Sacramento  City,  and  the 
distance  was  two  hundred  miles.  Several  streams,  in 
cluding  tbe  Sacramento,  to  be  crossed  on  the  way,  rose 
to  great  height  during  the  rains,  and  had  neither  bridges 
nor  ferries;  the  floods  spread  out  over  much  of  the  val 
ley,  and  the  soil,  where  not  covered  with  water,  some 
times  turned  into  a  quagmire  in  the  rainy  season. 
These  circumstances  would  protect  Heading's  Diggings 


166  MINING    LIFE    AT    SHASTA. 

against  being  crowded,  but  might  prevent  the  people 
from  getting  provisions  or  tools.  This  argument  im 
pressed  us  very  favorably,  and  as  our  party  felt  able  to 
live  in  complete  seclusion  for  six  months  at  least,  we 
decided  in  favor  of  Reading's  Diggings,  as  the  region 
within  ten  miles  of  the  Lower  Springs,  now  known  as 
the  town  of  Shasta,  was  then  called.  Pearson  B.  Read 
ing,  who  owned  a  Mexican  grant  on  the  western  bank 
of  the  Sacramento,  ten  miles  away,  having  visited  Sut- 
ter's  mill  in  the  summer  of  1848,  saw  that  the  country 
there  closely  resembled  that  in  the  foot-hills  near  his 
ranch,  returned  to  his  place,  and  found  the  placers 
named  after  him.  He  was  a  notable  man  in  his  day, 
and  was  the  Whig  candidate  for  Governor  in  1851,  but 
his  memory  is  now  dim.  The  name  of  Shasta  was 
given  to  the  county,  and  a  railroad  station  and  town 
built  on  his  ranch  was  called  Redding,  after  a  man  of 
more  note  in  the  later  history  of  the  State. 

While  we  were  011  our  way  to  the  Diggings,  and  still 
three  days  from  the  end  of  our  long  journeying,  we  met 
a  party  of  half  a  dozen  men  who  had  been  there.  They 
advised  us,  and  even  begged  us  to  turn  back,  told  us 
they  had  given  a  fair  trial  to  the  mines,  which  they  as 
sured  us  were  worked  out,  and  they  predicted  that  in 
the  coming  winter  the  miners,  cut  off  by  the  bad  con 
dition  of  the  roads  from  communication  with  the  lower 
country,  and  insufficiently  supplied  with  food,  would 
starve  to  death.  They  said  that  most  of  them  would 
leave,  but  had  not  the  means  to  get  away.  We  had 
no  doubt  of  the  good  faith  of  these  men,  whose  ap 
pearance,  manner  and  language  indicated  that  they 
were  industrious,  sober,  and  though  uneducated,  not 
unfit  to  succeed  at  mining.  We  were  much  impressed, 
and  somewhat  depressed,  but  we  were  too  near  the 


MINING    LIFE    AT     SHASTA.  167 

mines  to  turn  back  without  taking  a  look  at  them.  We 
camped  at  night  near  some  men  who  had  pack-horses, 
and  after  supper  paid  them  a  visit,  and  asked  them 
whether  they  had  been  at  Beading's  Diggings.  They 
said  they  had.  We  told  them  the  advice  we  had  re 
ceived,  and  wanted  to  know  their  opinion.  They 
laughed  very  heartily,  and  said  that  in  all  the  mining 
districts  we  could  find  such  people,  who  had  not  practi 
cal  sense  enough  to  pick  up  the  gold  when  it  was  in 
plain  sight.  If  they  found  " claims"  that  would  pay  one 
hundred  dollars  a  day  to  the  man  for  a  year,  they  would 
abandon  them  or  sell  out  for  a  trifle,  and  spend  months 
in  hunting  for  something  that  would  pay  two  hundred 
dollars.  The  leading  man  of  the  party  then  said  he 
would  convince  us,  and  untying  from  a  pack-saddle  a 
heavy  canvas  bag,  he  took  out  from  one  end  five  or  six 
immense  buckskin  purses,  which  he  emptied  into  a  tin 
pan,  used  for  mixing  dough,  as  well  as  for  washing 
auriferous  gravel,  and  filled  it  three  inches  deep  with 
gold  dust,  some  of  the  pieces  being  as  large  as  hen's 
eggs.  "The  country,"  said  he,  "is  full  of  this  stuff; 
and  every  man  of  you  can  get  more  than  he  can  carry. 
You  need  not  be  afraid  of  starving;  I  am  going  to  spend 
all  this  and  a  good  deal  more  for  beans,  pork  and  flour 
for  these  diggings;  and  I  would  not  do  that  if  they 
were  not  rich.  The  traders  can  make  too  much  out  of 
provisions  to  let  anybody  starve."  That  speech  revived 
our  drooping  spirits;  and  our  party  afterwards  in  the 
mines  often  amused  themselves  with  repeating  the 
phrases  and  imitating  the  manner  of  the  men  who  tried 
to  turn  us  back.  Subsequently  I  knew  a  chemist  and 
metallurgist  who  had  many  opportunities  to  make  a 
great  fortune,  but  always  failed  to  seize  them,  he  doing 
the  work,  while  somebody  else  reaped  the  profit.  It 


168  MINING    LIFE    AT     SHASTA. 

was  said  of  him  that  if  he  were  placed  on  a  lump  of 
pure  gold  as  big  as  a  house,  with  a  hammer  and  cold 
chisel,  he  would  not  cut  off  enough  to  make  a  decent 
living.  The  despondent  miners  were  probably  some 
what  like  him. 

Another  phase  of  human  nature  came  to  the  surface 
in  our  party  about  the  same  time.  Our  company  had 
been  stopped  one  day  in  theHumboldt  desert  by  a  Ger 
man  who  begged  for  assistance  to  California.  He  could 
speak  very  little  English,  and  I  was  called  up  to  serve 
as  interpreter.  He  said  he  had  been  hired  as  a  driver 
of  an  ox-team  by  a  man  who  had  maltreated  and  defraud 
ed  him,  and  then  driven  him  off;  he  was  penniless  and 
friendless;  many  trains  had  passed  and  refused  to  take 
him,  and  if  not  helped  through,  he  must  starve.  His 
story  was  plausible,  and  the  general  opinion  was  that 
he  could  not  be  abandoned  there,  and  several  men  in 
the  party  said  that  as  I  was  the  only  one  who  could 
speak  with  him,  I  ought  to  take  charge  of  him.  My 
messmates  seemed  to  have  the  same  opinion,  and  I 
consented  to  do  so,  telling  the  man  that  I  had  no  more 
than  I  needed  for  myself,  but  I  would  take  him  along  if 
he  would  drive  team  for  us  till  we  got  to  the  mines,  and 
then  work  till  he  had  paid  me  back  at  the  rates  there 
current  for  provisions.  He  declared  that  he  owed  his 
life  to  me,  and  would  pay  me  tenfold.  This  man,  find 
ing  that  I  was  to  ride  ahead  and  reach  the  mines  two 
days  in  advance  of  the  wagons,  for  the  purpose  of  se 
lecting  a  camping-place,  grumbled  because  I  was  going 
to  make  two  hundred  dollars  before  any  of  the  others 
got  to  the  mines,  and  he  said  that  as  he  was  the  oldest, 
he  ought  to  have  been  sent  ahead.  This  fellow  never 
paid  a  cent,  and  after  we  reached  the  mines,  Avanted  to 
live  at  my  expense  without  paying  even  for  his  food. 


MINING    LIFE    AT     SHASTA  169 

On  our  arrival  at  the  mines,  we  found  ourselves  at  an 
elevation  of  about  fifteen  hundred  feet  above  the  sea, 
in  the  foothills  of  high  mountains.  The  soil  was  a 
gravelly  clay,  and  was  pierced  in  many  places  by  pro 
jecting  points  of  slate  rock.  The  vegetation  consisted 
mostly  of  oak,  nut  pine  and  pitch  pine,  with  an  under 
growth  of  manzanita,  poison-oak,  and  various  other 
bushes.  The  grass  was  scanty  and  dry;  no  sign  of 
moisture  could  be  found  near  the  surface;  there  were 
only  two  springs,  and  no  streams  within  miles;  and  in 
some  places  where  the  diggings  were  rich,  the  miners 
could  not  stay  for  the  lack  of  water.  Near  the  lower 
springs  the  work  was  all  dry  digging — that  is,  scraping 
over  the  dry  dirt  found  next  to  the  bed-rock  in  the 
gullies  and  picking  out  the  pieces  of  gold.  My  first 
occupation  was  to  sit  down  and  watch  an  Oregonian.  He 
had  arrived  by  land  in  the  previous  spring;  had  visited 
the  Stanislaus  and  Yuba  mines,  and  thought  these  as 
rich  as  any.  He  dug  a  hole  about  two  feet  deep  in 
the  gravelly  clay,  shoveling  out  carelessly  so  much  of 
the  dirt,  and  after  loosening  the  remaining  six  inches 
next  to  the  bed-rock  with  his  pick,  he  sat  down  and 
scraped  it  over  with  his  knife,  throwing  away  the  bar 
ren  material  and  saving  the  gold.  At  intervals  of  a 
few  minutes  he  threw  a  particle  of  metal  into  a  tin 
blacking-box  which  served  as  the  receptacle  of  his 
treasure.  Some  of  the  particles  were  no  larger  than  a 
flax-seed,  and  others  were  as  heavy  as  five  dollars. 
After  scraping  the  surface  of  the  rock  clean,  he  dug 
down  into  it  four  or  five  inches,  and  between  the  nearly 
vertical  laminae  which  crossed  the  gully  at  right  angles, 
he  found  many  pieces,  though  the  rock  had  appeared 
to  be  solid.  His  work  was  slow,  and  position,  squat 
ting  down  in  the  dirt  under  a  broiling  sun,  unpleasant, 


170  MINING    LIFE     AT     SHASTA. 

but  while  I  sat  looking  for  one  afternoon,  his  box  col 
lected  two  ounces  or  more  of  gold.  I  felt  grateful  for 
what  he  had  allowed  me  to  see,  and  I  was  pleased  with 
the  confidence  that  I  could  do  just  as  well  the  next  day. 
So  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  I  hurried  off  with  pick, 
shovel,  knife,  purse,  most  sanguine  expectations,  and 
a  little  perplexity  as  to  what  would  be  the  most  appro 
priate  use  to  be  made  of  the  two  or  three  ounces  to  be 
obtained  by  my  first  day's  work  in  the  mines.  I  would 
keep  that  gold  separate,  and  determine  in  the  future 
how  it  should  be  appropriated  to  commemorate  a  nota 
ble  day  in  my  life.  I  selected  a  spot  on  the  Oregonian's 
gully,  not  very  far  from  him,  dag  a  hole,  and  began  to 
scratch,  but  after  I  had  cleaned  off  the  rock  and  dug 
down  into  it  and  had  found  no  metal,  I  suspected  that 
I  was  working  too  fast,  so  I  got  a  piece  of  white  mus 
lin  and  threw  my  dirt  on  it  to  get  a  better  view  of  every 
particle;  but  the  gold  was  not  visible.  I  went  up  on 
the  side  of  the  hill  where  I  could  look  down  on  the 
gully  and  study  its  general  appearance,  but  I  could  see 
nothing  to  indicate  poverty  or  inferiority  to  the  situation 
occupied  by  the  Oregonian.  I  had  worked  hard  and 
carefully,  and  my  sight  was  good  at  a  short  distance. 
The  gold  ought  to  be  there,  and  I  ought  to  get  it.  Those 
were  the  only  conclusions  at  which  I  could  arrive.  I 
went  near  to  the  Oregonian,  sat  down  and  watched  him 
again.  He  was  in  excellent  humor,  and  when  I  told 
my  trouble,  he  said  that  was  the  way  with  nearly  every 
body  at  first  in  dry  digging,  and  said  it  would  come  out 
right  after  a  few  weeks.  Perhaps  I  had  selected  a  place 
where  the  bed-rock  was  too  steep  or  smooth;  but  the 
oldest  miner  could  not  always  tell  by  looking  at  an  un 
touched  claim  whether  it  was  rich.  He  advised  me  to 
dig  several  holes,  and  leave  them  if  I  found  nothing  on 


MINING    LIFE     AT     SHASTA.  171 

first  reaching  the  bed-rock.  While  he  was  explaining 
matters  to  Hie  as  well  as  he  could,  within  an  hour  he 
took  out  not  less  than  five  dollars.  So  far  as  I  could 
see,  there  was  nothing  in  his  mode  of  working  that  I 
could  not  do  as  well  as  he.  I  took  my  tools,  selected 
another  place  above  him  in  the  same  gully,  dug  a  hole, 
scraped  the  bed-rock,  and  it  was  barren.  I  ate  my 
dinner  in  a  mortified  mental  condition,  which  was  not  im 
proved  by  finding  that  the  experience  of  my  messmates 
was  as  unsatisfactory  as  my  own.  We  had  purposely 
gone  iu.  different  directions,  so  as  to  increase  the  chances 
of  having  at  least  one  succeed,  and  then  he  could  in 
vite  the  others  to  join  him.  In  the  afternoon  I  tried 
several  other  places  in  the  same  gully  and  on  an  adjoin 
ing  one  with  no  better  luck,  and  went  to  bed  in  disgust. 
The  next  day  and  the  following  one  I  did  a  little  better, 
but  did  not  make  enough  to  pay  for  my  food.  Flour 
was  worth  then,  or  soon  after,  two  dollars  a  pound,  and 
rice,  sugar,  coffee  and  beans  a  dollar  and  a  quarter,  and 
these  prices  prevailed  until  supplies  began  to  arrive 
from  the  south  in  the  spring.  My  messmates  were  not 
quite  so  unsuccessful  as  I  was,  but  they  were  far  from 
satisfied.  It  was  evident  that  dry  digging  was  not  to  be 
learned  without  longer  apprenticeship  than  we  wanted 
to  give  to  it. 

While  we  were  in  this  frame  of  mind,  we  were  ad 
vised  to  go  to  Clear  Creek,  ten  miles  away,  where  we 
would  find  wet  diggings,  in  which  we  could  do  better  at 
first.  We  moved  accordingly  to  the  place  then  known 
as  the  Middle  Bar,  afterwards  called  "  One-Horse 
Town,"  and  still  later  simply  Horsetown.  There  we 
camped  and  spent  the  winter.  There  we  found  a  little 
valley  of  several  hundred  acres,  at  the  mouth  of  a  can 
yon  with  high  and  nearly  vertical  rocky  walls,  between 


172  MINING    LIFE    AT     SHASTA. 

which  the  creek  issued  from  the  steep  mountains.  At 
the  side  of  the  stream  there  was  a  long  bar  of  gravel, 
perhaps  sixty  yards  wide,  formed  by  an  eddy  in  the 
current  when  at  flood  height.  It  was  the  first  large  bar 
on  the  creek,  and  gave  an  excellent  opportunity  for  the 
gold  brought  down  by  the  torrent,  to  lodge.  The  gravel 
was  from  a  foot  to  two  feet  deep,  and  near  the  bed 
rock,  which  was  of  slate,  with  laminae  dipping  so  as  to 
make  many  angles  suitable  for  catching  gold,  was  rich, 
or  even  very  rich. 

The  miners  at  work  there,  scraped  the  dirt  next  the 
bed-rock  into  pans  holding  perhaps  thirty  pounds  each, 
and  when  they  had  a  panful  they  carried  it  to  the  creek 
and  washed  it,  shaking  it  so  that  the  clay,  gravel  and 
sand  were  carried  away  by  the  water,  while  the  heavier 
gold  stayed  behind.  It  required  perhaps  twenty  minutes 
to  fill  and  wash  a  pan,  and  the  metal  obtained  varied 
from  twenty-five  cents  to  four  dollars.  Most  of  the 
miners  were  making  about  twenty-five  dollars  a  day. 
The  gold  was  coarse,  but  was  mixed  with  fine  gold,  that 
is,  pieces  like  flax-seeds  or  grains  of  sand.  Several 
miners  were  working  with  cradles,  in  which  the  gravelly 
clay  was  shaken  with  water  till  it  came  to  pieces,  and 
then  the  water  and  light  material  ran  out  through  an 
opening  at  the  lower  end,  the  large  gravel  was  thrown 
out  by  lifting  off  the  screen-box,  and  the  gold  was 
caught  behind  a  cleat.  It  is  a  simple  and  very  efficient 
machine  as  compared  with  the  pan,  and  enabled  two 
men  working  together  to  do  twice,  and  in  some  kinds  of 
auriferous  deposit,  four  times  as  much  work  as  they 
could  do  with  pans,  though  far  inferior  to  the  sluices  and 
hydraulic  process  afterwards  invented.  The  bar  was 
extensive;  little  of  it  was  claimed;  there  was  abundant 
room  for  us;  we  made  cradles  and  succeeded  with  them; 


MINING     LIFE     AT     SHASTA.  173 

we  settled  down  to  work  and  determined  to  stay  there 
through  the  winter. 

After  we  had  spent  several  weeks  in  working  with  our 
cradles,  we  found  that  a  log  cabin  would  be  necessary 
for  health  and  comfort,  as  the  nights  were  getting  cold; 
so  we  built  one,  getting  much  of  the  material  from  two 
or  three  nut-pine  trees  which  we  cut  down  near  the 
place  where  the  cabin  was  to  stand.  The  roof  was  of 
tent  canvas,  smeared  with  pitch  picked  up  at  the  base 
of  the  pine  trees.  The  spaces  between  the  logs  were 
filled  with  mud;  the  floor  was  mother  earth;  the  door 
consisted  of  a  piece  of  canvas;  bunks  were  provided  for 
sleeping,  and  there  was  a  spacious  chimney  at  each  end, 
so  that  two  messes  could  cook  at  the  same  time,  one  of 
four  men  and  the  other  of  three.  The  house  had  a 
kitchen,  dining-room,  bedroom  and  parlor,  all  in  one 
apartment. 

Before  the  cabin  was  finished,  the  long  storm  of  1849 
began,  early  in  November,  and  continued  for  nearly 
three  months.  The  creek  rose  so  high  that  the  bar  was 
covered,  and  we  had  to  look  elsewhere  for  diggings,  and 
we  found  them  in  the  gullies  in  the  adjacent  hills. 
Nearly  every  gully  near  us  proved  to  be  rich  in  gold, 
and  singular  to  say,  the  gold  differed  greatly  in  appear 
ance  in  different  gullies  separated  by  only  short  dis 
tances  from  one  another.  In  most  of  the  ravines,  the 
gold  was  rough  and  very  coarse;  in  some  it  was  smooth 
and  fine;  cucumber  see,d,  water-melon  seed,  pea,  wheat, 
and  flaxseed  gold  were  the  names  given  to  the  metal 
from  as  many  gullies,  because  its  pieces  resembled 
those  articles.  Some  of  the  prettiest  gold  I  ever  saw 
was  dug  by  myself  from  a  cucumber-seed  claim,  every 
piece  being  almost  perfect  in  shape.  The  miners  could 
usually  tell  by  the  appearance  of  the  gold  where  it  came 


174         MINING  LIFE  AT  SHASTA. 

from,  that  is,  if  it  was  from  any  gully  with  which  they 
were  familiar.  The  yield  in  the  ravine  mining  averaged 
from  twenty  dollars  to  forty  dollars  per  day  to  the  man, 
and  though  the  work  was  wet  and  dirty,  the  miners 
were  cheerful.  California  was  doing  better  for  them 
than  they  expected  when  they  started,  and  they  were 
always  hoping  to  strike  some  deposit  that  would  pay 
them  a  thousand  dollars  a  clay. 

The  intellectual  and  social  life  of  our  camp  was  dull. 
The  nearest  woman  was  ten  miles  away,  and  she  was 
neither  youthful  nor  beautiful,  and  what  was  worse,  at 
least  for  our  interest  in  her,  she  had  a  husband  and 
half  a  dozen  children.  When  a  man  went  across  the 
mountains  to  the  Springs,  and  that  was  a  rare  event — 
in  six  months  I  went  only  once — he  was  expected  to  get 
a  view  of  the  woman  and  have  something  to  say  about 
her  when  he  returned.  There  was  no  female  society  in 
California  for  us,  nor  at  that  time  was  tbere  any  hope  of 
any.  We  expected  to  do  without  it  till  we  could  go 
back  to  the  States  with  fortunes. 

We  had  no  newspapers  and  no  news  from  abroad.  The 
continuous  storms  and  floods  cut  us  off  from  any  regular 
communication  with  the  lower  part  of  the  Sacramento 
valley,  and  the  reports  which  reached  the  Lower 
Springs,  the  chief  town  and  center  of  the  district,  might 
not  come  over  to  us.  We  had  heard  that  there  was 
a  movement  to  organize  a  State,  but  we,  or  at  least  I, 
did  not  know  till  the  next  spring  that  a  constitution  had 
been  framed  and  adopted,  and  a  State  government  es 
tablished.  Several  times  in  the  course  of  the  winter,  we 
'had  chances  to  send  letters  to  San  Francisco  by  paying 
fifty  cents  apiece,  and  in  the  spring  letters  were  brought 
from  there  afc  the  same  charge. 

There  were  few  books  in  the  camp,  and  few  of  the 


MINING    LIFE     AT     SHASTA.  175 

miners  cared  to  read.  If  they  had  any  leisure  in  the 
evenings,  they  visited  some  neighboring  cabin  or  tent 
and  exchanged  experiences,  opinions  and  rumors  about 
the  diggings.  No  two  gullies  were  alike,  and  everybody 
wanted  to  hear  what  was  said  of  those  which  he  had  not 
tried.  Generally  the  men  were  reticent  about  them 
selves,  preferring  to  conceal  their  success,  especially  if 
exceptional,  from  all  save  a  few  very  intimate  friends; 
yet  there  was  no  lack  of  interesting  information  about 
others.  There  were  no  candles,  but  the  fires  could  be 
made  to  blaze  brightly  with  pitch  pine,  if  needful  for 
reading,  writing,  or  card-playing,  but  not  much  of  either 
was  done.  There  was  no  church,  no  preaching,  no 
meeting  for  religious  purposes,  but  many  of  the  miners 
having  been  bred  in  devout  families,  had  their  Bibles, 
which  a  few  made  a  practice  of  reading  on  Sundays. 
Generally,  however,  the  day  was  devoted  to  prospect 
ing,  washing  clothes,  and  gossiping. 

A  quieter  and  more  moral  community  I  never  saw. 
There  was  no  liquor  for  sale,  and,  so  far  as  I  knew,  none 
was  kept  save  for  medicinal  purposes  in  the  camp. 
There  was  no  fighting  or  quarreling,  and  until  spring 
opened,  there  was  no  complaint  of  stealing  save  by  In 
dians.  There  was  no  officer  of  the  law,  nor  any  need  of 
protection  for  life  or  property.  Cabins  were  left  open 
and  unguarded,  without  fear  that  they  would  be  plun 
dered,  and  frequently  gold  would  be  left  out  in  quanti 
ties  of  an  ounce  or  two  without  being  disturbed.  I  had 
a  good  opportunity  to  observe  the  men  who  came  across 
the  continent  in  1849,  and  those  who  were  the  bulk  of 
Ihe  miners  in  Reading's  diggings  in  the  following  win 
ter,  and  I  can  bear  witness  that  as  a  class  they  were 
men.  of  whom  any  country  might  well  be  proud.  I 
never  elsewhere  saw  a  community  in  which  there  was 


176          MINING  LIFE  AT  SHASTA. 

so  little  disposition  to  idleness,  dissipation  and  crime, 
relatively.  The  government  made  a  most  lamentable 
mistake  when,  by  throwiog  the  Mexican  land  grants, 
covering  the  richest  agricultural  districts  then  accessi 
ble,  into  long  litigation,  and  refusing  to  recognize  any 
permanence  of  title  in  the  mining  regions,  it  impelled  a 
large  proportion  of  these  men  to  abandon  California, 
retaining  the  thriftless,  and  making  room  for  others, 
including  many  less  reputable.  The  gambling,  drunk 
enness.,  and  crime  which  became  common  in  the  mines, 
or  at  least  in  some  of  the  mining  districts,  in  later  years, 
made  no  appearance  at  the  Middle  Bar  in  the  winter  of 
1849—50.  Not  a  dollar  changed  hands  there  by  cards 
or  dice,  so  far  as  I  saw  or  heard. 

There  was  no  peculiar  dialect  then  or  at  any  subse 
quent  time  in  California.  The  miners  came  from  all  parts 
of  the  Union,  Great  Britain,  Ireland,  and  Canada.  Many 
of  them  were  well-educated  men;  and  in  such  a  gather 
ing  a  common  dialect  was  impossible.  Individuals  re 
tained  much  of  the  pronunciation  of  their  native  Mis 
souri,  Vermont,  Tennessee,  Scotland,  England,  or  Ire 
land,  but  generally  they  spoke  English  better  than  the 
country  people  elsewhere.  The  dialect  put  into  the 
mouth  of  the  Californian  miners  by  Bret  Harte  is, 
to  a  large  extent,  original  with  him.  The  miners  are 
given  to  slang,  some  of  which  has  been  well  recorded  by 
Mark  Twain. 

The  impassable  condition  of  the  roads  limited  the 
supply  of  physical  as  well  as  of  intellectual  food.  The 
staff  of  life  with  us  was  the  white  bean,  baked  with  pork 
or  bacon,  and  we  found  it  excellent  to  sustain  steady  and 
severe  muscular  exertion,  much  better  than  white  bread. 
We  had  our  beans  every  day,  and  at  nearly  every  meal. 
It  was  a  work  of  love  for  us  to  look  at  the  Dutch  oven 


MINING     LIFE    AT     SHASTA.  177 

full  of  beans,  the  last  thing  at  night  and  the  first  thing 
in  the  morning,  to  see  whether  water  was  needed  inside 
or  coals  outside  to  bring  the  mess  to  the  highest  condi 
tion  of  palatable  flavor.  Besides  beans,  we  had  flour, 
hard  bread,  rice,  dried  apples,  coffee,  sugar,  frequently 
fresh  venison,  and  rarely  fresh  bear  or  beef.  Except  the 
fresh  meats,  these  articles  were  all  such  as  could  be 
kept  for  years.  "We  had  no  milk,  butter,  cheese,  fruits  or 
garden  vegetables,  either  fresh,  canned,  pickled  or  pre 
served,  no  canned  meats  or  sardines.  Some  of  these  were 
abundant  in  other  mining  districts,  but  there  were  none 
in  our  camp,  so  far  as  I  knew.  The  dried  apples,  a  few 
wild  onions,  and  some  kale  (a  wild  plant  akin  to  the 
cabbage),  cooked  as  greens,  protected  us  against  the 
scurvy.  We  ate  from  tin  plates  and  drank  from  tin 
cups,  and  each  man  was  expected  to  wash  his  own 
dishes — the  washing  being  done  usually  by  rubbing 
with  sand,  in  water,  as  soap  was  a  scarce  article. 

The  favorite  material  for  shirts  was  hickory  muslin, 
a  thick  cotton,  with  narrow  blue  stripes.  It  did  not 
show  dirt  readily,  and  it  washed  easily,  and  every  fel 
low  did  his  own  washing.  There  were  fe\v  white  shirts 
and  no  flat-irons  in  our  camp.  Our  outer  clothing  was  of 
wool,  coarse,  strong,  and  usually  dirty.  Every  man  was 
a  miner,  and  necessarily  got  into  the  mud  or  dust  every 
day.  There  was  no  blacking,  nor  any  occasion  that  re 
quired  an  elegant  costume. 

The  only  money  was  gold  dust,  current  at  $16  per 
ounce,  either  troy  or  avoirdupois,  and  nearly  every 
cabin  had  its  scales,  often  home-made,  and  if  they  did 
not  vary  more  than  a  dram  or  two  in  the  ounce  from 
the  common  standard,  there  was  no  complaint. 

In  the  last  half  of  January  the  rains  ceased,  or  became 
much  lighter;  many  of  the  gullies  which  had  paid  high 
12 


178          MINING  LIFE  AT  SHASTA. 

for  several  months,  no  longer  had  running  streams,  or 
their  richest  spots  were  worked  out;  and  the  miners 
wanted  to  look  for  something  better.  They  had  been 
shut  up  for  three  months,  and  were  restless.  They  were 
disturbed  by  rumors  that  elsewhere  a  day's  work  was 
rewarded  with  $500  or  $1000.  In  our  ignorance  of  the 
manner  in  which  gold  had  been  distributed  through  the 
placers,  we  fancied  that  there  was  a  reasonable  chance 
of  finding  gullies  where  we  could  load  a  two-horse 
wagon  with  the  clean  metal  in  an  hour.  About  forty 
miles  to  the  southwest,  in  the  basin  of  the  Cottonwood 
Creek,  were  some  red  hills  that  looked  as  if  they  were 
rich  in  gold,  plainly  visible,  on  clear  days,  from  the 
peaks  near.  They  were  in  the  midst  of  a  region  occu 
pied  by  hostile  Indians,  had  never  been  prospected,  and 
offered  us  the  opportunity  for  adventure  and  perhaps 
for  princely  wealth. 

Early  in  February  a  party  of  twelve,  six  with  pros 
pecting  tools  and  six  with  rifles,  which  last  were  to  pro 
tect  us  against  the  Indians  and  provide  us  with  venison, 
started  out.  Every  man  carried  blankets,  and  promised 
to  carry  hard  bread  enough  to  last  for  ten  days.  The 
country  was  rugged,  and  for  three  days  we  advanced 
slowly,  being  beset  all  the  time  by  the  hostile  Indians, 
who  repeatedly  threatened  to  attack  us,  scared  away  the 
game,  and  prevented  any  separation  for  either  hunting 
or  prospecting.  On  the  fourth  and  fifth  days,  the  Indi 
ans  did  not  trouble  us,  and  the  hunters  killed  five  deer, 
two  of  them  full  grown  and  three  fawns,  and  the  veni 
son,  after  dressing  must  have  weighed  one  hundred  and 
fifty  or  perhaps  two  hundred  pounds,  and  yet  the  dozen 
of  us  ate  it  all  within  the  two  days,  averaging  at  least 
six  pounds  a  clay  of  the  meat  for  each;  and  besides,  our 
supposed  supply  of  bread  for  ten  days  had  all  disap- 


MINING     LIFE     AT     SHASTA.  179 

pearecl  on  the  evening  of  the  fifth  clay.  We  were  nearly 
forty  miles  from  home,  had  found  no  gold  yet,  and  had 
nothing  to  eat,  but  we  expected  the  hunters  to  supply 
us  with  our  daily  venison  steak.  They  started  out  very 
early  the  next  day,  to  find  the  deer  while  feeding,  but 
were  disappointed.  Fortunately  for  us,  the  acorns 
stored  in  the  bark  on  the  north  side  of  the  nut-pine 
trees  by  the  woodpeckers  were  abundant  and  sound. 
Those  on  the  south  side,  having  been  soaked  by  the 
rains,  which  come  from  that  direction,  were  spoiled. 
They  were  hard  and  bitter,  or  at  least  we  had  thought 
so  when  we  had  all  we  wanted  of  more  succulent  and 
palatable  food.  We  had  seen  Indians  eat  a  peppergrass 
growing  there  in  moist  places,  and  we  found  it  a  good 
accompaniment  of  the  dry  acorns,  and  the  two  had  the 
advantage  of  offering  a  decided  variation  from  broiled 
venison  and  baked  beans.  A  ravenous  appetite  pre 
pared  me  to  enjoy  anything  clean  and  moderately  nutri 
tious,  as  the  acorns  and  grass  were,  and  though  some  of 
the  party  complained  of  suffering  the  pangs  of  starva 
tion,  they  must  have  eaten  heartily  to  do  the  work 
that  was  clone  before  getting  back  to  Clear  Creek. 
I  have  no  unpleasant  recollections  of  the  wild  diet, 
and  if  I  should  ever  visit  Shasta  county,  I  shall  keep  a 
sharp  lookout  for  the  pepper-grass.  I  would  rather 
have  a  dish  of  it  now  than  of  the  greatest  delicacy  on  the 
tables  of  Paris. 

We  were  not  in  the  best  condition  for  hunting  and 
prospecting,  but  we  started  out  in  couples,  in  different 
directions,  agreeing  to  meet  at  a  specified  point  about 
four  in  the  afternoon.  My  companion,  Mr.  Davis,  and 
myself  were  prospectors,  and  after  going  several  miles 
wo  came  to  a  large  gully,  which  we  tried  in  several 
places,  finding  about  twenty-five  cents  to  the  pan,  or 


180  MINING     LIFE    AT     SHASTA. 

enough  to  pay  thirty -five  dollars  a  day  to  a  man  with  a 
cradle;  and  there  was  enough  material  to  employ  two 
dozen  men  for  months.  That  was  enough  to  compen 
sate  us  for  all  the  trouble,  danger  and  privation  of  the 
expedition.  AVe  walked  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  a  paral 
lel  gully,  equally  large,  and  obtained  still  better  results. 
We  then  started  to  ascend  the  ridge,  so  as  to  look  for 
other  gullies  worthy  of  examination,  and  as  we  were 
following  up  the  ravine,  we  came  to  a  place  where  the 
bed  was  steep  and  the  clear  water  was  running  over  bare 
rock,  on  which  numerous  little  pieces  of  gold  were  lying. 
We  picked  them  up  on  the  points  of  our  knives,  and  in 
half  an  hour  we  had  about  five  ounces  and  a  half — forty- 
five  dollars  each — including  many  pieces  worth  half  a 
dollar.  The  mere  specks  we  left.  We  went  down  this 
ravine  till  we  found  a  deposit  of  clay  on  the  bedrock, 
and  two  pans  of  it  when  washed  yielded  five  dollars 
each.  With  such  dirt  we  could  make  seven  hundred 
dollars  a  day  to  the  man,  but  we  supposed  there  was 
not  much  of  ifc.  We  had  tried  the  richest  spots.  We 
climbed  the  ridge,  selected  another  large  gully,  followed 
that  down,  found  forty-dollar  diggings,  with  enough 
ground  to  occupy  a  hundred  men  for  a  year,  and  were 
happy. 

We  then  started  for  camp,  but  before  reaching  it 
rested  on  a  hill  from  which  we  could  look  down  and  see 
that  the  six  hunters  and  two  of  the  prospectors  were 
already  there,  and  the  separate  manner  in  which  they 
were  lying  about  in  the  shade  indicated  that  they  had 
neither  venison  to  cook  nor  good  news  of  any  kind  to 
talk  about.  We  agreed  that  we  should  conceal  our  suc 
cess  for  a  little  while,  so  as  to  enjoy  the  disappoint 
ment,  and  about  that  time  the  other  pair  of  prospectors 
came  in  sight  on  an  opposite  hill,  and  we  resumed  our 
course  so  as  to  get  there  about  the  same  time. 


MINING     LIFE    AT     SHASTA.  181 

While  we  were  still  fifty  yards  off,  one  of  the  hunters 
called  out  to  us,  "  What  luck?"  and  I  answered,  "Bet 
ter  ask  Tattle,"  who  was  one  of  the  prospectors  ap 
proaching  from  the  other  side.  So  they  turned  their 
attention  away  from  us,  and  when  Tuttle  had  seated 
himself  in  the  shade  he  gave  an  account  of  his  prospect 
ing,  the  general  result  being  unsatisfactory,  though  he 
had  obtained  one  piece  that  weighed  an  ounce.  -  So  far 
as  he  had  washed  the  dirt  in  any  large  gully,  it  would 
not  yield  more  than  twelve  or  eighteen  dollars,  and  we 
could  do  better  at  Clear  Creek.  Tattle,  supposing  from 
my  manner  that  we  had  no  news  of  interest,  asked 
Batchelder  and  his  companion,  the  third  pair  of  pros 
pectors,  what  they  hadj  and  the  reply  was,  "Nothing." 

Then  he  said  to  me,  "You  ought  to  have  found  some 
thing.  I  know  there  is  gold  in  yonder  hill." 

I  said,  "We  found  the  color  in  several  places." 

"Nothing  more  than  the  color?"  asked  he. 

"Yes,"  said  I;  "if  we  had  to  leave  Clear  Creek  I 
think  we  could  make  a  little  more  than  our  grub  here." 

"Didn't  you  find  any  sample  worth  saving?" 

"Yes,  we  got  some  little  pieces." 

"Let's  see  them." 

I  hesitated  and  wanted  to  tell  part  of  my  story  first, 
but  perhaps  something  in  our  faces  betrayed  us,  for 
they  insisted  on  seeing  the  dust  without  any  further 
talk,  and  when  Davis  opened  the  corner  of  his  hand 
kerchief  there  was  an  exclamation  of  joyful  surprise,  for 
they  assumed  that  the  quantity  and  quality  meant  rich 
diggings,  and  that  assumption  was  confirmed  when  they 
saw  that  I  had  as  much  more.  When  they  heard  our 
story  they  had  no  doubt  that  we  had  found  placers  far 
superior  to  any  near  Clear  Creek  or  the  Lower  Springs. 
Bich  as  the  gullies  were  about  the  Middle  Bar,  none  oi 


182          MINING  LIFE  AT  SHASTA. 

us  had  seen  or  heard  of  one  in  which  the  gold  was  found 
in  plain  sight,  or  in  which  the  pan  would  yield  $5.  We 
supposed  that  every  member  of  our  party  was  sure  of 
half  a  million  at  least,  and  we  immediately  began  to 
consult  about  the  best  method  of  carrying  it  in  safety  to 
San  Francisco.  Some  preferred  pack-mules  and  others 
would  have  wagons;  one  thought  each  should  travel 
separately;  another  proposed  we  should  stick  together 
and  move  in  an  armed  body,  with  a  hired  guard  as  an 
additional  protection. 

We  postponed  the  final  decision  of  that  question  till 
we  had  turned  out  for  our  evening  graze,  and  we  came 
back  smacking  our  lips  over  our  acorns  and  grass, 
which  had  obtained  a  new  relish  from  the  agreeable 
events  of  the  day.  We  made  a  large,  long  fire  as  usual, 
and  sat  in  front  of  it  to  enjoy  a  little  conversation  be 
fore  going  to  sleep.  We  were  more  than  cheerful;  we 
were  decidedly  jovial.  One  of  our  party  who  happened 
to  be  well  read  in  Scripture  recalled  some  of  the  re 
marks  about  Nebuchadnezzar  and  made  funny  applica- 
cations  to  our  party;  we  laughed  heartily.  In  our  frame 
of  mind  not  much  was  required  to  draw  out  the  laughter. 

Nebuchadnezzar,  however,  did  not  amuse  us  so  much 
as  Aleck  Andrews,  who  said  there  was  only  one  thing 
needed  to  make  him  perfectly  happy,  and  that  was  to 
get  back  to  Clear  Creek  and  have  a  good  meal  of  pork 
and  beans.  We  reminded  him  that  when  at  Clear  Creek 
he  had  a  fashion  of  saying  that  he  would  be  perfectly 
happy  if  he  could  be  back  for  one  evening  in  Fleming 
County,  Kentucky,  have  a  dish  of  ham  and  eggs  and  a 
dance  with  a  Kentucky  girl.  This  sliding  scale  of  hap 
piness  was  made  the  subject  of  much  merriment;  the 
man  who  had  nothing  but  acorns  and  grass  would  be 


MINING  LIFE  AT  SHASTA.          183 

satisfied  with  pork  and  beans;  when  he  had  an  abundance 
of  these,  then  he  longed  for  ham  and  eggs  and  a  dance 
with  a  Kentucky  girl. 

We  had  to  decide  our  programme  for  the  next  day. 
A  few,  including  myself,  wanted  to  start  for  home,  but 
the  majority  were  anxious  to  discover  diggings  still 
richer;  and  having  resolved  to  go  farther,  we  did  so, 
but  the  hunters  killed  no  deer,  the  prospectors  found 
no  gold,  and  we  had  another  day  of  aboriginal  diet. 

At  daylight  on  the  seventh  morning  we  started  for 
Clear  Creek,  estimating  the  distance  as  equivalent  to 
fifty  miles  on  level  ground  and  without  any  burden,  and 
we  knew  how  much  there  wac  in  a  mile.  We  all  consid 
ered  ourselves  able  to  make  thirty-five  miles  a  day, 
without  feeling  any  the  worse  for  the  exertion,  or  even 
stiff  the  next  morning;  and  we  expected  under  the  exi 
gency  of  our  case  to  reach  the  Middle  Bar  before  night. 
All  did  so  except  myself;  and  I  would  have  succeeded 
if  I  had  not  separated  from  my  companions  to  go  round 
the  head  of  a  deep  canon,  and  got  lost  in  the  mountains. 
I  came  out  all  right  the  next  morning. 

As  we  expected  to  spend  the  summer  at  our  new 
diggings  in  the  basin  of  Cottonwood  creek,  we  pur 
chased  large  supplies,  got  our  oxen  from  Beading's 
ranch,  loaded  our  wagons,  took  all  our  portable  prop 
erty  from  Clear  Creek,  and  moved  with  a  heavy 
train,  each  man  taking  a  partner.  Having  to  make 
a  road  in  many  places,  we  had  an  arduous  time  of 
it,  while  some  hundreds  of  Oregonians,  instructed  in 
our  secret  by  one  of  our  party,  who  got  drunk  at  the 
springs,  accompanied  us  with  their  pack-horses,  and 
had  a  jolly  time.  When  we  reached  our  diggings,  they 
sent  a  committee  to  us,  requesting  us  to  mark  off  what 


184:  MINING    LIFE    AT    SHASTA. 

we  claimed,  and  we  did  so  without  delay  or  further 
investigation,  and  tliey  got  some  of  the  best  ground  in. 
the  district. 

We  began  work  as  a  joint-stock  company,  on  the 
richest  spots,  and  I  dug  five  hundred  dollars  the  first 
day,  but  at  the  end  of  the  third  day  we  were  tired  of 
the  joint-stock  business,  for  several  of  the  men  dicl 
nothing.  We  divided  the  gold  obtained  in  the  three 
days  equally  among  the  members  by  measure,  each  get 
ting  a  small  tin  cup  full.  Afterwards  working  in 
couples,  we  at  first  did  very  well,  but  to  our  great  sur 
prise  the  gullies  dried  up  very  rapidly,  and  without 
water  we  could  do  very  little.  In  two  weeks  the  Ore- 
gonians  left  us,  after  making  war  with  the  Indians, 
whom  we  had  conciliated,  and  in  less  than  a  month  we 
were  back  at  Clear  Creek  with  no  more  gold  than  if  we 
had  stayed  there.  %  . 

Of  those  twelve  prospectors,  four  at  least  survive. 
Aleck  Andrews,  the  only  one  wrho  has  made  his  home 
in  Shasta  county,  has  represented  it  several  times  in 
the  Legislature,  is  a  member  elect  of  the  State  Consti 
tutional  Convention,  and  has  the  kindly  esteem  of  his 
fellow-citizens  in  1878  as  he  had  of  his  fellow-miners  in 
1849.  Noah  Batchelder,  a  respectable  gentleman,  spends 
much  of  his  time  in  Shasta.  Joseph  Voshay,  now  a  res 
ident  of  San  Bernardino,  and  an  occasional  visitor  at 
San  Francisco,  was  known  generally  at  the  Middle  Bar 
in  my  time  by  no  name  save  that  of  " Hell-roaring  Jo," 
a  title  more  indicative  of  the  uudevout  spirit  prevalent 
among  the  miners  than  of  any  wickedness  on  Jo's  part, 
for  he  was  a  general  favorite,  but  very  noisy,  with  a 
constant  succession  of  mirthful  ideas. 

In  May,  1850,  I  left  the  mines,  coming  down  the 
Sacramento  river  from  Monroeville  to  Sacramento, 


THE    SHADOW.  185 

about  one  hundred  and  forty  miles  in  a  whale-boat,  and 
I  paid  thirty  dollars  for  a  passage  on  the  steamer  "  Gold 
Hunter/'  from  Sacramento  to  San  Francisco.  The 
period  from  May,  1849,  till  May,  1850,  was  the  most 
eventful,  and,  in  some  respects,  is  to  me  still  one  of  the 
most  interesting  in  my  life. 


THE  SHADOW. 

BY  REV.  DR.  M.  J.  SAVAGE. 

IN  a  bleak  land  and  desolate, 

Beyond  the  earth  somewhere, 
Went  wandering  through  death's  dark  gate 

A  soul  into  the  air. 

And  still  as  on  and  on  it  fled, 

A  waste,  wild  region  through, 
Behind  there  fell  the  steady  tread 

Of  one  that  did  pursue. 

At  last  it  paused  and  looked  aback; 

Ancl  then  it  was  aware 
A  hideous  wretch  stood  in  its  track, 

Deformed  and  cowering  there. 

"And  who  art  thou," — he  shrieked  with  fright,- 

"That  dost  my  steps  pursue? 
Go  hide  thy  shapeless  shape  from  sight, 

Nor  thus  pollute  iny  view!" 

The  foul  form  answered  him:  "  Alway 

Along  thy  path  I  flee. 
I'm  thine  own  actions:  night  and  day, 

Still  must  I  follow  thee." 


186  LA    PROVIDENCE. 


LA  PKOVIDENCE. 

BY  VICTOR  HUGO. 

OH  !  c'est  une  douce  croyance 

Que  celle  d'un  etre  divin 

Qui,  sous  le  nom  de  Providence, 

S'associe  a  notre  destin. 

Dans  ce  monde  ou  Ton  s'achemine 

Vers  un  monde  inconnu, 
Quand  nous  naissons,  1'ange  s'incline 

Sur  le  pauvre  enfant  nu. 

Ah  !  n'est-ce  pas  une  pensee 
Aussi  pure  que  le  ciel  bleu, 
Aussi  douce  que  la  rosee 
Qui  rafraichit  la  terre  en  feu  ? 
Malheur  a  ceux  dont  la  science 

Vient  egarer  les  pas  ! 
Plus  heureux,  de  la  Providence 

I/oiseau  ne  doute  pas. 

Sous  cent  formes  elle  deploie 
Le  zele  ardent  qui  nous  previent 
Jetant  au  marin  que  se  noie 
Une  planche  qui  le  soutient; 
Betenant  pres  du  precipice 

L'enfant  insoucieux, 
Et  prelevant  sur  1'avarice 

Le  pain  du  malheureux. 


A    MOUNTAIN    STOKM    AND    RAINBOW.  187 


A  MOUNTAIN  STOKM  AND  EAINBOW. 

BY  GEORGE  JONES,  THE  COUNT  JOANNES. 

' '  Like  to  the  rainbow,  when  the  tempest  dread, 
Surcharg'd  with  swift- destroy  ing  thunderbolts, 
Falls  as  an  avalanche  from  mountain-peak 
And  fills  the  valley  with  dark  clouds  of  death, — 
With  Hope's  bright  colors  it  o'erviews  them  all." 

THE  above  figure  of  speech,  assumed  by  Tecumseh  in 
my  tragedy  of  that  name,  I  actually  witnessed  in  the 
Kaatskill  Mountains.  Arriving  at  the  Mansion  House 
after  night's  mantle  had  shrouded  the  earth,  I  could  see 
naught  but  a  vast  depth  of  darkness,  which  precluded 
every  thought  except  the  horror  of  a  foot-fall;  for  upon 
the  rock  of  the  southern  mountain  the  imagination  can 
readily  trace  such  an  accident,  even  from  the  death-slip 
— the  fall  through  the  nether  air,  hundreds  of  feet,  the 
screams  of  the  victim,  the  grave-like  silence,  till  earth 
should  embrace  him  in  the  arms  of  death!  Such  were 
my  thoughts  in  viewing  the  deep,  dark  chaos.  The 
rock  I  have  mentioned  is  about  three  thousand  four 
hundred  feet  above  the  Hudson  river;  and  from  its 
summit,  on  the  following  morning,  I  beheld  the  dawn 
of  nature's  glory, — sunrise!  The  entire  expanse  of  the 
valley  was  covered  with  a  brilliant  silver  vapor,  which 
being  graced  by  the  warm  smiles  of  Apollo,  suddenlv 
became  as  a  golden  sea,  in  which  the  naiades  of  a  fabled 
ocean  might  have  gathered  to  witness  the  radiant  form 
of  the  Queen  of  Love,  as  sea-born  she  arose  to  glad  the 
world  with  earthly  bliss!  When  the  vapor  of  the  morn 
ing  was  dispersed,  the  plains  and  hills  beneath,  em 
bracing  a  view  of  more  than  one  hundred  miles,  were 
presented  to  the  bewildered  sight;  the  river  Hudson 


188  A    MOUNTAIN    STORM    AND    RAINBOW. 

seemed  merely  a  bright  ribbon  in  the  center  of  the  val 
ley,  and  the  tall  pine-trees  like  the  briars  of  a  rose 
bush;  so  diminutive  appeared  every  object  from  the 
great  height  of  the  mountain  rock. 

On  the  third  day,  nature  exhibited  the  most  sublime 
sight  that  can  be  even  imagined  or  portrayed  by  poetic 
thought,  pen  or  pencil:  namely,  a  mountain  storm  and 
rainbow.  A  few  hours  after  mid-day,  the  winds  howled 
through  the  ravines  of  the  mountains,  indicating  the  ap 
proach  of  a  tempest.  Looking  from  the  rock  down  upon  the 
extensive  plain,  different  strata  of  air  were  perceptible; 
for  the  rack-clouds  were  moving  in  several  directions, 
blown  by  the  varying  winds — east,  south  and  north. 
Suddenly  the  mountain  storm  commenced  from  the 
west,  accompanied  with  "  Jove's  dread  clamor,"  and  the 
most  vivid  lightning.  The  loud  and  deafening  thunder 
shook  the  very  foundation  of  the  Mansion  House;  huge 
overhanging  rocks  were  shattered  and  fell  into  the  vast 
abyss;  the  lightning  flashes,  from  their  intense  bril 
liancy,  deadened  sight  into  actual  blindness,  and 
minutes  elapsed  ere  the  sense  of  sight  was  restored; 
torrents  of  rain  formed  new  ravines  and  waterfalls, 
while  the  furious  hurricane  deracinated  the  stately 
pine  and  aged  cedar,  and  whirled  them  aloft  to  fall  with 
destruction  upon  the  plain  below.  At  once  this  terrible 
war  of  the  elements  descended  battling  to  the  valley 
from  the  mountain-peak,  when  from  the  high  rock  was 
seen  the  fierce  storm  beneath.  The  electric  fluid  at 
tracted  from  cloud  to  cloud,  appeared  like  fabled  fiery 
serpents  contending  for  the  masterdom.  The  reverber 
ating  thunder,  echoing  from  mountain  to  mountain,  and 
the  furious  winds,  bursting  the  clouds  asunder,  as  if  to 
force  the  concealed  lightning  from  its  electric  battery — 


A    MOUNTAIN    STORM    AND    RAINBOW.  189 

all  combined,  produced  a  scene  of  terror  and  grandeur 
almost  too  sublime  for  human  words  to  delineate. 

While  the  brain  was  whirling  to  and  fro,  contem 
plating  this  elemental  war  and  the  majesty  of  Nature, 
the  clear  blue  firmament  above  and  the  black,  raging 
storm  beneath,  suddenly  was  created  the  sign  of  peace, 
the  covenant  between  the  Almighty  and  mankind,  and 
it  was  seen  in  its  double  form  in  dazzling  prismatic  col 
ors,  a  vast  arch,  apparently  forty  miles  in  diameter, 
over  the  dreadful  gulf  of  desolation !  Upon  that  heavenly 
arch  of  hope,  fashioned  by  the  Architect  of  the  uni 
verse,  angels  might  have  stood,  and  trumpet-tongued, 
have  called  upon  man  to  look  "from  Nature  up  to  Na 
ture's  God  !"  That  wondrous  sight  would  have  restored 
the  maniac  atheist  to  his  childhood's  sanity  and  inno 
cence,  when  first  he  heard  the  voice  of  prayer  from  his 
mother's  lips;  it  would  have  taught  him  to  renounce  his 
hell-born  creed  and  exclaim,  with  mind  and  heart  re 
generated,  "There  is  a  God  ! "  In  a  brief  space  of  time 
Nature  doffed  her  dark  and  stormy  mantle  and  ap 
peared  arrayed  in  her  brightest  robes  of  serenity,  for 
the  entire  valley  was  covered  with  bright  golden  clouds, 
which  gradually  arose,  as  drapery  drawn  up  by  angelic 
hands  from  the  Arch  of  Hope,  discovering,  as  at  sun 
rise,  the  cultivated  plains  beneath,  yet  in  more  varied 
and  brilliant  colors.  The  present  world  and  the  future 
were  portrayed  in  these  magnificent  pictures  from  the 
hand  of  Nature. 


190  THE    CROWN    OF    YOUTH. 


THE  CROWN  OF  YOUTH. 

BY  PROFESSOR  HENRY  KIDDLE. 

YOUTH  is  the  period  for  golden  aspirations.  The 
future,  then,  is  a  land  of  bright  promise,  with  golden 
fields  of  effort  and  enterprise,  and  triumphs  of  genius, 
winning  rapturous  applause  from  admiring  crowds. 
Ambition  stands  with  beckoning  hand,  and  points  to 
the  hill  of  Famo  in  the  distance,  clothed  with  splendor, 
and  surmounted  with  a  castle  magnificent  in  its  propor 
tions  and  in  the  beauty  of  its  architectural  symmetry. 
Onward  speeds  the  youth,  his  eye  fixed  upon  the  daz 
zling  heights,  but  too  often  is  found  dashed  to  pieces 
at  the  foot  of  some  awful  precipice,  seen,  alas!  too 
late. 

Life  is,  in  fact,  just  as  beautiful — just  as  full  of  pre 
cious  prizes,  with  just  as  bright  and  glorious  mansions 
on  the  Delectable  Mountains,  in  the  distance,  as  ever 
dazzled  the  eyes  of  youth  in  ambition's  brightest 

dreams. 

"  Life  is  real — life  is  earnest, 

And  the  grave  is  nob  its  goal. 
Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest, 
Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul." 

O,  youth !  believe  those  glorious  words  of  one  of  the 
sweetest  and  most  spiritual  of  poets;  for  they  but  echo 
tho  words  of  inspiration  coining  to  mortals  from  the 
depths  of  ages,  and  enshrined  in  the  sacred  pages  of 
Holy  Scripture. 

Go  on  the  mission  which  your  Divine  Saviour  has 
pointed  out  to  you.  Wherever  you  are,  and  whatever 
you  are — whether  your  sphere  of  action  be  low  or  ex 
alted — let  it  be  ever  your  ambition  to  be,  indeed,  true 


THE    CROWN    OF    YOUTH.  191 

men  or  true  icomen — doing  the  work  upon  which  the 
angels  will  gaze  with  smiles  of  rapture,  and  which  your 
heavenly  Father  shall  reward,  when  He  greets  you  with 
the  approving  words:  "Well  done,  good,  and  faithful 
servant!"  Be  not  thou,  O!  youth,  like  him  who  buried 
his  talent  in  the  earth,  but  respond  to  the  exhortation: 

<f  Let  us  then  be  up  and  doing, 

With  a  heart  for  any  fate; 
Still  achieving,  still  pursuing — 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait." 

Let  thine  eyes  never  lose  sight  of  the  beacon  of  thy 
soul's  immortality,  never  forgetting  that,  when  "our 
earthly  house  of  this  tabernacle  is  dissolved,  we  have  a 
building  of  God,  a  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal 
in  the  heavens."  Faith  in  this  glorious  truth  will 
awaken  you  to  the  noblest  efforts,  will  sweeten  all  the 
trials  of  life,  and  will  lead  you,  at  the  end,  to  that  re 
gion  of  eternal  happiness  in  which  you  shall  truly  feel 
that  the  love  of  your  Creator  "passeth  all  understand- 
ing." 

"Trust  in  the  Lord  with  all  thy  heart,  and  lean  not 
unto  thine  own  understanding;  in  all  thy  ways  acknowl 
edge  Him,  and  He  shall  direct  thy  paths." 

These  thoughts  are  the  jewels  which,  when  set  in 
your  lives,  will  form  a  glorious  crown,  more  glittering 
than  the  most  resplendent  of  gems,  and  as  enduring  as 
the  flowers  that  bloom  in  the  amaranthine  bowers  of 
Paradise. 


192  THKEE     CHRISTMASES    A    YEAR. 

THEEE  CHEISTMASES  A  TEAE. 

BY  EBENEZEB,  KUOWLTON. 

WOULDN'T  that  be  jolly,  though?  Just  think  of  it  1 
Three  Christmases  in  one  year  !  Yes,  and  all  of  them 
in  one  week,  too!  Why,  Old  Santa  Glaus  and  Kriss 
Kringle  would  fairly  go  crazy  trying  to  remember  all 
the  gifts,  and  I'm  afraid  they'd  drive  their  poor  rein 
deer  to  death  in  the  vain  attempt  to  deliver  them  all  on 
time.  And  then,  you  know,  the  Society  for  the  Pre 
vention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals  would  have  to  take  the 
reindeer  in  hand,  and  if  they  did  that,  poor  Kriss  and 
old  Santa  might  not  get  clear  in  time  to  attend  to  the 
Christmas  gifts  for  next  year,  and  that  would  become 
a  case  of  cruelty  to  children. 

Besides  that,  where  would  the  fathers  and  mothers, 
the  uncles  and  aunties,  the  grandpas  and  grandmas,  the 
brothers  and  sisters  and  cousins,  find  the  money  to  pay 
for  all  the  presents  ?  Why,  even  now,  with  only  one 
Christmas  a  year,  some  of  them  have  to  begin  right 
after  the  Fourth  of  July  and  save  all  their  spare  gold, 
and  silver,  and  nickels,  and  greenbacks,  so  as  to  be 
ready  for  the  Christmas  presents,  and  then,  after  all, 
they  can't  give  as  many  beautiful  gifts  as  their  loving 
hearts  would  like  to  give.  And  if  it's  as  bad  as  that 
with  only  one  Christmas  a  year,  what  would  become  of 
us  if  we  had  three?"  I  'm  afraid  some  of  our  good  peo 
ple  would  have  to  ask  Congress  to  make  a  law  that 
Christmas  should  come  only  once  in  three  years.  And 
that  would  make  trouble  for  the  almanac  people,  and 
the  church  people,  and  all  the  young  folks  wouldn't 
like  it,  and  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know-how  in  the  world  we 
could  help  having  trouble  all  round. 

You   think  there 's   no  danger  ?     You  don't  believe 


THBEE     CHRISTMASES    A    YEAB.  193 

three  Cliristmases  could  come  in  one  year?  And  all  in 
the  same  week?  Yes,  and  on  three  successive  days, 
one  right  after  the  other?  You  know  they  couldn't  do 
it  anyway  ?  Well,  now,  you  wait  a  bit,  if  you  please. 
There  are  a  great  many  things  in  this  world  that  you 
don't  know  yet,  and  this  may  be  one  of  them. 

But  first,  let  us  get  acquainted  with  each  other,  and 
then,  perhaps,  the  boys  will  tell  you  all  about  it  them 
selves.  They  didn't  believe  it  either,  once,  any  more 
than  you  do  now,  but  they  found  out  that  it  could  be 
true,  and  really  is  true,  after  a  fashion,  and  they  found 
it  out  so  completely  and  so  pleasantly  that  it  made 
them  all  very  happy  at  the  time,  and  has  made  them 
almost  as  happy  ever  since,  every  time  they  have 
thought  of  it,  or  tried  to  tell  of  it. 

So  let  me  introduce  Hal,  Guy,  and  Fred.  Their  other 
name  is  Kent,  and  they  live  right  here  in  San  Fran 
cisco;  away  up  on  one  of  the  slopes  of  the  Clay-street 
hill,  within  sight  and  sound  of  the  street  cars  that  run, 
like  so  many  idle  men  and  women,  without  any  visible 
means  of  support. 

They  are  "Pioneer  boys,"  too,  for  they  are  among 
the  first  boys  born  in  the  State.  Their  father  was  a 
real  pioneer  of  the  earliest  kind.  He  was  with  Com 
modore  Sloat  when  he  raised  the  first  Stars  and  Stripes 
that  ever  waved  in  California,  at  Monterey,  on  July  7, 
1846,  one  day  before  Commodore  Montgomery  raised 
the  first  American  flag  on  what  is  now  Portsmouth 
square,  here  in  our  own  city.  And  the  boys  say  that  if 
their  father  is  a  pioneer  man,  his  sons  must  be  pioneer 
boys — and  I  don't  see  how  we  can  get  round  it,  either, 
do  you? 

Their  mother  is  just  the  nicest,  widest-awake,  clear 
est-headed,  and  most  loving-hearted  little  woman  in  the 
13 


194  THREE     CHEISTMASES     A    YEAK. 

whole  city.  Afc  least  the  boys  all  say  so;  and  if  you 
and  I  don't  think  so,  we  won't  let  the  boys  know  it, 
just  yet,  anyway,  because  if  we  did,  they  might  not  tell 
us  all  we  want  them  to.  I  can't  draw  her  picture  for 
you,  for  she  is  too  good  and  too  pretty  to  be  put  into 
words.  So  I  don't  think  the  boys  are  far  wrong  in 
their  opinion  of  her,  after  all.  It  would  be  a  blessed 
thing  if  all  the  boys  in  the  world  could  think  so  of  their 
mothers,  at  least  until  they  grow  to  be  great  six-foot 
boys  not  less  than  twenty-five  years  old. 

Their  father  is  one  of  the  tallest,  largest,  finest- 
looking  of  men,  such  as  you  may  see  on  Montgomery 
street,  or  around  the  Merchants'  Exchange,  on  almost 
any  afternoon,  when  our  leading  merchants  are  thickest 
and  busiest.  I  don't  dare  tell  you  exactly  how  he  looks 
for  fear  you'll  find  him  out,  and  he  won't  thank  me  for 
putting  you  all  on  track  of  him,  staring  after  him,  and 
pointing  at  him  on  the  streets. 

But  I'll  try  some  little  pen-pictures  of  the  boys  for 
you,  that  is,  if  they'll  keep  still  long  enough,  for  they 
are  all  so  fall  of  life,  and  drive,  and  dash,  and  frisk, 
that  it's  hard  to  keep  them  in  one  place  long  at  a  time. 

First,  then,  for  Hal.  He's  the  oldest,  the  largest, 
and  decidedly  the  handsomest — at  least  lie  thinks  so, 
and  a  very  nice  young  lady  whom  I  might  name,  thinks 
so,  too.  Hal  is  nearly  twenty;  straight  as  an  Indian — 
that  is,  as  an  Indian  used  to  be;  I  mean  before  the 
white  man's  whisky  had  taken  so  much  of  the  straight- 
ness  and  the  strength  out  of  him, — and  the  top  of  his 
head  is  almost  level  with  his  father's.  Dark  hazel  eyes, 
clear  and  deep  brown  face — not  tanned,  but  the  natural 
brown  that  will  neither  wash  out  nor  wash  off.  He 
would  be  a  "  regular  double  brunette,"  Guy  says,  if  he 
were  a  girl;  a  good,  large  nose,  curved  a  little,  like  an 


JAMIE  H.  BEGGS. 


THREE     CHEISTMASES    A    YEAR.  195 

eagle's,  he  says  himself;  or  a  regular  hawk-bill,  Fred 
calls  it  when  he  loses  his  own  knife,  and  Hal  won't 
lend  him  his.  But  his  hair,  that's  what  Hal's  proudest 
of,  and  well  he  may  be,  for  it's  the  heaviest  tangle  of 
solid  black  curls  that  ever  packed  themselves  around 
one  roguish  youngster's  mischievous  pate.  Then  Hal 
has  as  broad  a  pair  of  good,  square  shoulders,  as  finely 
knit  a  frame,  and  limbs  as  well  rounded  and  well-set  as 
any  lad  of  his  years  ever  brought  out  of  the  Olympic 
Club. 

He  is  in  the  Junior  Class  of  the  State  University  at 
Berkeley;  not  the  number  one  student  in  book  learning, 
but  easily  the  leader  of  them  all  in  health  and  strength 
of  body,  quickness,  clearness  and  readiness  of  mind, 
endless  good-temper,  practical  knowledge  of  men  and 
things,  and  general  sound  judgment. 

President  Le  Conte  says  he  wishes  more  young  men 
came  to  him  with  such  splendid  health  of  body  and 
mind,  such  quickness  in  grasping  and  using  new  facts, 
such  knowledge  of  men  as  well  as  of  books,  and  such 
admirable  balance  and  self-control,  as  he  finds  in  Hal 
Kent.  And  he  might  have  more  such  lads  if  their 
fathers  would  take  as  much  pains  to  talk  with  them, 
explain  to  them,  question  them,  take  them  about  with 
them,  and  even  send  them  abroad,  as  Mr.  Kent  has 
taken  with  Hal.  A  little  behind  in  the  dull  and  dry  minu- 
tiseof  mere  school-book  knowledge,  he  may  be;  but  vastly 
ahead  in  many  other  attainments,  so  much  so,  in  fact, 
that  he  is  fast  becoming  the  acknowledged  leader,  not 
only  of  his  own  class,  but  of  the  whole  University. 

Next,  Guy.  He  is  as  plump  as  a  partridge,  and  as 
full  of  mischief  as  of  plumpness.  Eyes  that  fairly 
sparkle  with  the  fun  that  is  packed  away  behind  them 
and  running  out  through  them!  When  they  are  half 


196  THREE     CHRISTMASES    A    YEAR. 

shut  you  can  see  a  sunny  smile  slyly  snuggling  in  either 
corner  of  each  merry  eye,  and  when  he  opens  them 
wide  you  can  almost  hear  the  good,  round  double  laugh 
that  fairly  tills  them  both.  When  he  gets  fairly  at  it, 
you  need  not  go  to  the  minstrels  for  funny  songs,  jokes 
or  acting.  Indeed,  on  those  pleasant,  social  evenings 
when  Guy  is  keeping  the  family  and  the  visiting  neigh 
bors  in  an  almost  constant  laugh,  his  father  sometimes 
says  he  don't  know  but  the  city  authorities  will  have 
to  arrest  him  yet  for  keeping  a  place  of  public  amuse 
ment  without  any  license.  ' '  Such  cuttings-up  as  that  boy 
does  go  into!"  his  mother  says,  and  yet  she  cannot  keep 
her  face  straight  long  enough  to  scold  him  if  she  would, 
for,  no  matter  how  seriously  she  may  begin,  one  bright 
flash  of  his  merry  eyes  and  one  queer  twist  of  his  comi 
cal  mouth,  and  the  dear  little  mother  goes  off  into  a 
rippling  laugh  every  bit  as  clear  and  ringing  as  his  own. 
In  fact  it  is  very  easy  to  see  where  Guy  got  his  fun;  at 
any  rate,  Guy  says  himself,  with  a  sly  glance  at  his 
mother,  that  he  came  honestly  enough  by  it,  and  he 
loves  the  darling  little  woman  all  the  more  because  she 
gave  it  to  him  in  the  first  place,  and  always  helps  him 
along  in  it  whenever  she  gets  a  chance. 

Guy  has  a  fair,  Saxon  complexion,  blue  eyes,  and  ahead 
of  light  brown,  curly  hair,  that  curls  so  tight  that  the 
young  rogue  says  he  often  has  hard  work  to  get  his  eyes 
shut  when  he  wants  to  go  to  sleep.  And  though  he  is  so 
plump,  his  eye  is  as  quick,  his  hand  as  skillful,  and  his 
foot  as  nimble  as  those  of  any  boy  in  the  famous  base 
ball  club  of  which  he  is  captain.  Folks  say  he  takes 
after  his  grandfather.  Guy  says  he  hasn't  seen  the  good 
old  gentleman  for  so  long  that  he  hardly  knows  whether 
he  takes  after  him  or  not,  but  he  thinks  he  should  take 
after  him  pretty  lively  if  he  could  only  catch  one  square 


THREE     CHRISTMASES    A    YEAR.  197 

sight  of  him,  especially  about  Christmas  time.  Mr. 
Mann,  his  former  teacher  at  the  Boys'  High  School, 
tells  him  that 's  hardly  respectful  to  the  old  gentle 
man,  but  Guy  says  that,  "  Grandfather  knows  what  he 
means." 

Last  of  all,  Fred.  And  best  of  all,  too,  almost  any 
body  would  say,  especially  if  that  anybody  were  a  nice, 
appreciative  little  girl.  Such  a  curly-pated,  laughing- 
faced,  snappy-eyed,  merry-tempered  little  rogue,  one 
could  hardly  find  twice  in  a  thousand  miles.  Nor  a 
more  lovable  one,  either.  Babies  stretch  out  their  tiny 
hands  to  go  to  him,  or  crow  to  get  hold  of  him.  Kitties 
and  puppies  run  after  him  and  frisk  about  him  as  if 
they  knew  he  has  as  much  frisk  in  him  as  the  funniest 
of  them.  Hopping,  skipping,  running,  climbing  and 
jumping  all  day  he  is,  but  seldom  falling,  for  he  seems 
to  have  learned  of  the  kitties  themselves  how  to  always 
come  down  on  his  feet.  And  such  pranks  as  he  does 
play!  But  he  never  vexes  anybody  nor  torments  any 
thing,  for  he  is  so  tender-hearted,  as  well  as  happy- 
tempered  himself  that  he  can't  bear  to  see  anybody 
else  troubled  at  all,  or  any  animal  tormented  even  for  a 
minute.  So  the  boys  and  the  girls,  and  the  men  and 
women  take  to  him  and  love  him  almost  as  much  as  the 
babies  and  kitties  do. 

He  is  ten  years  old,  and  about  as  tall  as  a  broom. 
The  top  of  his  curly  head  comes  nearly  up  to  his  mother's 
shoulder,  so  that  when  any  one  asks  him  how  tall  he  is, 
he  always  says,  "  Just  up  to  my  little  mother's  heart," 
and  the  dear  little  mother  sometimes  almost  wishes  he 
could  never  grow  above  it. 

Their  home,  as  already  mentioned,  is  well  up  the 
southerly  slope  of  the  Clay  street  hill,  away  above  the 
noise  and  dust  of  the  city,  where  the  blessed  sunshine 


198  THEEE     CHRISTMASES     A    YEAR. 

strikes  first  in  the  morning  and  lingers  latest  in  the 
afternoon.  Guy  says  lie  seldom  climbs  the  hill  without 
thinking,  as  he  plants  each  footstep  an  inch  or  two  higher 
than  the  last,  of  the  old  motto-word,  "Excelsior,"  of 
which  his  teacher  reminds  his  boys  so  often. 

And  such  a  glorious  view  as  they  have  from  all  their 
windows,  especially  on  the  east  and  south!  Why,  you 
can  hardly  find  the  like  of  it  from  any  house  of  any  city 
in  the  world.  Mr.  Kent  believes  that  all  the  inner  ar 
rangements  of  the  house, — its  furniture,  its  surround 
ings,  and  especially  the  view  from  the  windows,  all  help 
to  educate  the  home  circle.  And  that  was  one  reason 
why  he  set  his  house  so  high.  The  view  is  best  of  all 
in  the  early  morning,  just  before  sunrise,  when  the 
broad  bay  lies  as  smooth  and  bright  as  one  of  heaven's 
own  mirrors,  and  the  hill- tops  of  Berkeley  and  Oakland 
lift  their  gray  and  blue  and  pinkish  ridges  sharply  up 
against  the  first  faint  blushes  of  the  dawn  along  the 
eastern  sky.  That 's  the  time  the  boys  see  most  of  it, 
for  they  all  love  to  get  up  early,  as  father  does.  He 
says  his  early  rising  has  made  his  fortune,  and,  if  early 
rising  can  do  it,  the  boys  bid  fair  to  be  even  richer 
than  their  father.  They  are  up  now,  although  it  is  only 
five  o'clock  on  Christmas  morning,  and  the  sun  is  yet  so 
far  below  the  darkling  hills  that  even  the  sharp  eyes  of 
the  eager  lads  can't  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  the  coming 
Christmas  which  has  already  dawned  so  merrily  upon 
their  wide-awake  cousins  in  Philadelphia,  New  York 
and  Boston,  and  "away  down  East."  So  they  grow  im 
patient,  and  begin  to  rally  the  day  on  its  laziness.  Hal 
says  he  don't  think  the  young  Christmas  is  as  smart  as 
the  young  Christians,  for  they  were  up  and  dressed  long 
ago,  while  the  day  hasn'fc  opened  his  eyes  yet. 

Guy  wishes  he  just  had  a  good  hold  of  the  big  crank 


THREE    CHRISTMASES    A    YEAR.  199 

that  turns  the  old  world;  if  he  wouldn't  give  it  one  jerk 
that  would  just  hurry  up  old  Santa  Glaus,  he  'd  just 
know  the  reason,  that's  all. 

Then  Fred  speaks.  He's  the  little  one;  the  smallest 
of  all.  He  says  he  "don't  wonder  Christmas  takes  such 
a  long  time  to  get  here,  'cause  he's  got  such  a  long  way 
to  come  and  such  big  lots  of  presents  to  lug.;'  Fred 
has  the  kindest  heart  in  the  house.  He  never  blames 
anybody,  but  always  tries  to  find  some  excuse  for  them, 
no  matter  how  bad  they  may  seem.  So  everybody 
loves  him.  They  can't  help  it.  You  couldn't  help  it 
either,  if  you  could  just  look  into  his  eyes  this  very 
minute  and  see  what  a  precious  pair  of  darling  little 
twinklers  they  are.  Just  look  at  him  now!  Kneeling 
on  a  hassock  at  the  east  window  of  his  own  room,  flat 
tening  his  fat  nose  against  the  cold  pane  until  one 
chubby  cheek  touches  the  glass  on  either  side,  while 
down  in  front  of  his  red  lips  the  cool  glass  grows  dewy 
with  his  moist  breathings  as  they  follow  one  another  so 
fast  from  his  lively  little  lungs.  But  the  glass  stays  all 
clear  yet  up  in  front  of  his  eyes,  and  they  twinkle  and 
snap  away  behind  it  as  if  blinking  and  winking  at  Santa 
Glaus  himself.  He  little  suspects  that  old  Santa  has 
already  come  and  gone  while  he  was  soundly  sleeping, 
and  has  packed  both  of  his  biggest  stockings  so  full  that 
the  presents  have  actually  run  over  and  dropped  into 
both  his  long-legged  boots,  and  they  were  the  nicest 
things,  too,  that  ever  slipped  into  those  same  boots, 
except  his  own  fat  little  feet.  Now  he  thinks  of  mother; 
wonders  if  she's  awake  yet;  jumps  up  quickly;  tip-toes 
softly  across  the  floor;  turns  the  door-knob  as  silently 
as  an  old  burglar,  and  creeps  slyly  along  the  hall  till  he 
reaches  mother's  door.  There  he  stops  a  minute  and 
"  barks,"  as  he  says,  to  see  if  anybody  is  stirring  yet. 


200  THEEE    CHRISTMASES    A    YEAR. 

He  can't  hear  a  sound,  not  even  the  ghost  of  a  snore,  so 
he  works  away  at  the  knob  till  he  turns  'it  softly  back 
without  a  bit  of  noise;  then,  all  on  a  sudden,  he  pushes 
it  swiftly  open  and  bursts  in  upon  his  mother's  sleep 
with  a  "Wish  you  merry  Christmas,  mother,"  so  loud 
and  hearty  that  his  mother  starts,  springs  up  in  bed, 
rubs  her  eyes  wide  open  with  both  hands,  then  stretches 
them  out  in  hearty  welcome  as  he  scrambles  up  the  bed 
side  to  be  fondly  folded  in  her  loving  arms.  Then  he 
rushes  back  to  the  boys'  room,  only  to  find  that  the 
drowsy  fellows  have  dozed  off  to  sleep  again  so  soundly 
that  Santa  Glaus  might  have  driven  his  old  sleigh,  or 
cart,  or  velocipede,  or  omnibus,  or  whatever  else  he 
travels  in,  right  over  their  very  noses  and  they  would 
hardly  have  waked  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  Then 
he  had  some  more  fan.  He  just  clapped  his  mouth 
down  close  to  their  ears  and  shouted  like  a  young  fire 
man,  ' '  Wish  you  MERRY  CHRISTMAS  ! "  so  loud  that  they 
started  up  quicker  then  mother  had  done,  and  paid  him 
for  his  mischief  by  banging  him  with  pillows  till  he  was 
glad  to  rush  back  to  mother's  room,  without  stopping  to 
see  whether  Santa  Claus  had  filled  his  brothers'  stock 
ings  or  not. 

Then  Guy  and  Hal  turned  to  each  other  with  a  "Wish 
you  merry  Christmas,  old  fellow?"  and  they  both  spoke 
it  so  exactly  at  the  same  time  that  they  had  to  stop  and 
1  'wish,  "as  the  girls  say  we  always  must  do  when  two 
people  happen  to  say  the  same  thing  at  the  same  time. 
As  soon  as  they  both  got  their  breath,  after  their  good, 
hearty,  brotherly  laugh,  they  started  together  for  father's 
and  mother's  room,  "to  get  the  wish  on  to  them." 
But  they  didn't  get  along  quite  so  well  as  Fred  had,  for 
they  were  larger  and  heavier,  and  more  in  a  hurry,  so 
that,  when  they  had  got  the  door  open  but  a  little  way 


THREE     CHRISTMASES    A    YEAR.  201 

and  were  just  drawing  in  good,  long,  deep  breaths 
that  they  might  wish  father  and  mother  a  real,  rousing, 
ringing  "Merry  Christmas,"  the  door  suddenly  flew 
wide  open,  and  there  stood  father  and  mother  all  up 
and  dressed,  and  rattling  off  "Wish  you  merry  Christ 
mas,  my  dear  boys  !"  so  loud  and  fast  upon  them,  that, 
as  Guy  afterward  said,  they  "couldn't  hear  themselves 
think."  So  the  old  folks  got  ahead  of  the  young  ones 
that  time,  and  laughed  so  long  and  loud  that  if  jolly  old 
Santa  Claus  hadn't  been  so  busy  filling  a  lot  of  other 
folks'  stockings,  he  would  surely  have  come  hurrying 
back  to  see  what  the  matter  was. 

Pretty  soon  they  all  finished  dressing  and  came  down 
stairs,  where  they  found  a  nice  warm  breakfast  all  ready 
and  waiting,  for  it  seems  that  the  boys  had  made  such 
a  racket  that  it  waked  Bridget,  and  when  she  heard  the 
"  Merry  Christmases  "  ringing  round  up  chamber,  she 
hurried  to  see  whether  her  big  stockings  had  any  pres 
ents  in  them,  and  when  she  found  them  fairly  filled 
with  all  sorts  of  good  things,  from  a  ten-dollar  gold 
piece  from  Mr.  Kent  to  a  big  paper  of  assorted  candies 
from  Master  Fred,  she  felt  so  thankful  to  them  all  that 
she  flew  round  as  lively  as  such  a  stout  creature  could, 
and  got  just  the  nicest  breakfast  that  she  knew  how  to 
get  for  the  dear,  good  family  that  had  so  kindly  remem 
bered  the  servant. 

After  they  were  all  seated,  and  had  gratefully  united 
in  their  father's  hearty  thanks  to  Him  whose  great  gift 
made  the  blessed  Christmas,  the  boys  began  to  ask  one 
another  if  they  remembered  what  a  funny  time  they 
had  ten  Christmases  ago,  trying  to  settle  which  day 
really  was  Christmas;  how  Guy  made  out  that  Christ 
mas  came  the  day  before  mother  said  it  did;  and  Hal 
said  that  Guy  and  his  mother  were  both  wrong,  for 


202  THREE    CHRISTMASES    A    YEAR. 

Christmas  would'nt  really  come  until  the  clay  after  both 
their  Christmases  ?  They  did  have  a  funny  time  over 
it,  sure  enough,  and  it  came  about  in  this  way: 

Guy  was  a  great  favorite  with  Captain  Eldridge,  the 
agent  of  the  Pacific  Mail  Steamship  Company's  great 
steamships  that  have  been  running  so  long  between 
New  York  and  San  Francisco,  and  that  began  to  run  to 
China  and  Japan  in  January,  1867.  He  used  to  run 
down  to  the  captain's  office  very  often,  and  go  with  him 
to  see  the  great  wharves  and  docks  from  which  the  grand 
old  steamships  sail.  He  went  clown  that  morning  when 
the  "  Colorado"  sailed  on  her  first  trip,  and  cheered  as 
loud  as  any  of  the  thousands  of  older  ones  that  thronged 
the  neighboring  roofs  and  hill  slopes  when  her  paddle- 
wheels  began  to  turn.  He  went  home  so  exciced  that 
he  couldn't  rest  until  he  had  written  out  his  thoughts 
about  it;  and  the  longer  he  thought  and  the  more  he 
wrote  about  it,  the  better  he  liked  the  idea  of  using 
what  he  had  written  for  an  original  declamation  when 
his  turn  came  next.  And  he  did  it;  so  that  on  the  first 
Friday  of  the  new  Term,  when  it  came  his  turn,  he 
walked  quietly  to  the  platform,  made  his  best  bow  to 
Mr.  Bradley  and  the  school — Mr.  Bradley  was  then 
principal,  you  remember — and  gave  them  this  original 
declamation : 

THE  SAILING  or  THE  "  COLORADO.  "—NEW  YEAR'S  DAY,  1867. 
IT  is  well-nigh  done!  The  last  long  link  of  the  earth- 
surrounding  chain  which  shall  bind  all  the  lands  under 
man's  subjection,  is  already  forged.  Even  while  we  speak, 
the  swiftly-turning  paddles  of  the  noble  "  Colorado  "  are 
hourly  stretching  westward  the  massive  chain  of  commerce 
and  civilization  which  shall  speedily  complete  the  circuit  of 
the  earth,  and  unite  two  worlds.  Every  setting  sun  sees 
her  farther  toward  the  end  of  the  grandest  voyage  ship  ever 


THREE    CHRISTMASES    A    YEAR.  203 

sailed.  Steadily  above  her  westward  way  the  Star  of  Em 
pire  shines  to  guide  and  cheer.  Commerce  and  civilization, 
through  all  the  centuries,  have  struggled  toward  this  crown 
ing  day.  They  have  conquered  the  new  world,  and  now 
embark  together  to  complete  their  conquest  of  the  old. 

The  boys  and  girls  who  crowded  among  the  thronging 
thousands  that  covered  the  wharves  and  roofs  and  hill- 
slopes  near  the  "  Colorado's"  pier  last  New  Year's  day, 
could  not  begin  to  realize  the  greatness  of  the  sight  they 
saw.  Exactly  on  the  stroke  of  noon  began  the  revolution 
of  those  giant  wheels  whose  myriad  turnings  are  this  day 
completing  the  commercial  circuit  of  the  globe. 

Let  them  remember  it  well,  for  the  longest  life  among 
them  will  behold  few  spectacles  more  worthy  human  mem 
ory.  From  between  the  pillars  of  the  Golden  Gate,  the 
staunch,  grand  ship  shot  forth,  like  some  gigantic  shuttle, 
weaving  the  woof  of  history  across  the  long-drawn  warp  of 
commerce.  Long  ages  had  waited  that  bright  morn.  Amer 
ica  stretching  forth  to  China.  The  Occident  reaching  out 
its  other  hand  to  meet  and  clasp  the  Orient's  waiting  palm, 
and  with  its  strong,  fraternal  grasp  to  bind  the  world  in 
one  vast  brotherhood.  The  western  and  the  eastern  worlds 
uniting  across  the  widest  and  the  grandest  of  earth's  oceans. 
The  deep  Pacific,  long  their  barrier,  has  become  at  length 
their  bond.  Heaven  smile  upon  the  noble  ship.  God  speed 
the  "  Colorado." 

Guy  grew  very  enthusiastic  over  his  declamation.  He 
really  spoke  as  if  his  heart  were  in  it,  and  the  boys 
cheered  him  to  his  heart's  content  as  he  stepped  down 
from  the  platform,  flushed  with  excitement  and  satis 
faction.  Even  Mr.  Bradley  could  not  forbear  to  smile 
upon  him  and  sincerely  commend  his  performance  as 
really  excellent  for  a  High  School  senior. 

"When  Captain  Eldridge  beard  of  it,  he  wanted  Guy 


204  THREE    CHRISTMASES    A    YEAH. 

to  recite  it  to  him.  Guy  did  so,  and  the  captain  en 
joyed  it  so  much  that  he  applauded  heartily  at  its  close, 
clapped  Guy  upon  the  shoulder,  and  told  him  that  he 
should  deliver  that  very  declamation  in  the  cabin  of  the 
"  Colorado"  herself,  half-way  across  the  Pacific  Ocean, 
on  her  very  next  trip.  Guy  was  too  much  delighted  to 
speak,  for  a  moment,  but  as  soon  as  he  recovered  the 
use  of  his  tongue,  he  warmly  thanked  the  Captain, 
and  told  him,  emphatically,  that  nothing  on  earth  could 
suit  him  better,  if  father  and  mother  were  willing. 

They  very  readily  consented,  when  they  learned  that 
the  captain  of  the  ship  would  be  glad  to  have  Guy's 
company,  and  especially  when  they  found  that  one  of 
Mr.  Kent's  merchant  friends  was  to  sail  at  the  same 
time  on  a  trip  round  the  world,  and  would  take  Guy 
with  him  with  the  greatest  pleasure. 

So  Guy  went.  And  of  all  his  leave-takings,  of  his 
getting  settled  in  his  state-room,  of  steaming  outward 
through  the  Golden  Gate,  of  his  sea-sickness,  and  of 
his  finally  "getting  his  sea  legs  on,"  we  have  no  time 
to  tell  in  so  short  a  story.  It  was  about  "  dropping  a 
day"  when  crossing  the  one  hundred  and  eightieth  me 
ridian  that  he  got  most  puzzled.  The  captain  kindly 
explained  how  one  going  west  gains  time,  or  finds  his 
watch  going  faster  and  faster;  and  one  going  east  as 
constantly  loses  time,  or  finds  his  watch  all  the  while 
slower  and  slower.  Gny  at  last  caught  the  idea  so 
clearly  that  he  wrote  in  his  diary  something  like  this : 

WEDNESDAY,  April  17,  1867.— This  is  the  first  time  in 
my  life  that  I  ever  heard  anybody  call  a  clay  the  same  day 
of  the  month  as  the  day  before.  Yesterday  was  Tuesday, 
April  16,  and  that  was  all  right;  but  the  Captain  says  that 
this  day,  Wednesday,  is  April  16,  too,  and  that  seems  all 
wrong.  He  explains  it  in  this  way: — The  earth  rotates 


THREE    CHRISTMASES    A     YEAR.  205 

from  west  to  east,  so  that  any  place  sees  the  sun  before, 
that  is,  earlier  than  any  place  west  of  it.  When  any  place 
begins  to  see  the  sun,  the  sun  rises  at  that  place,  and  when 
the  sun  rises  at  any  place,  the  clay  begins  at  that  place. 
And  the  earlier  the  day  begins  anywhere,  the  sooner  the 
noon  comes  there,  and  the  sooner  the  sun  sets  there.  So 
that  at  any  instant  of  time,  the  place  which  had  its  sunrise 
earlier,  that  is,  the  place  whose  day  was  born  first  will  be 
farther  on  in  its  life,  that  is,  will  be  older — in  other  words, 
will  have  a  later  hour  at  the  same  instant  than  any 
place  west  of  it.  Just  as  the  earlier  a  boy  was  born, 
the  older  he  is  at  any  given  time.  For  example:  Hal 
was  born  in  1850;  three  years  earlier  than  I;  so  he  is  now 
three  years  older  than  I.  So  if  the  day  is  born — that  is, 
if  the  sun  rises — an  hour  earlier  than  in  another  place, 
the  day  must  be  an  hour  older;  that  is,  the  time  of  day 
an  hour  later,  all  through  the  day  in  the  first  place  than 
in  the  second.  Its  noon,  its  sunset,  and  its  midnight  would 
come  an  hour  earlier,  and  the  next  day  must  begin  an  hour 
before  it  begins  in  the  other  place.  In  this  way,  when  the 
first  place  has  half-past  eleven  at  night,  on  the  sixteenth  of 
April,  the  second  place  has  half-past  twelve  the  next  morn 
ing,  April  17.  That  is,  two  places  which  have  only  one 
hour's  difference  of  time  may  have  two  different  days  at  the 
same  instant.  And  these  two  days  may  belong  to  two 
weeks,  these  two  weeks  to  two  months,  these  two  months 
to  two  years,  and  these  two  years  to  two  centuries,  even/' 

One  illustration  the  captain  used,  helped  him  a  great 
deal.  The  captain  said: 

"  Guy,  suppose  we  had  an  inclosed  tract  of  ground 
perfectly  round,  with  just  three  hundred  and  sixty  posts 
set  in  the  fence.  Now  if  any  boy  wanted  to  run  round 
the  tract,  don't  you  see  that  when  he  got  round  opposite 
the  same  post  he  started  from,  it  would  make  just  one 


206  THREE    CHBISTMASES    A    YEAR. 

round  for  him,  no  matter  which  post  he  began  at,  and 
the  instant  he  ran  by  that  post  be  would  begin  his  sec 
ond  round  ?  Do  you  see  ?  " 

Guy  did  see  that. 

"  Well,"  continued  the  captain,  "  all  you  need  do  is 
to  think  of  the  earth  as  the  tract,  and,  in  place  of 
the  posts,  think  of  the  meridians,  and,  instead  of  the 
boy,  think  of  the  sun,  running  around,  or  seeming  to 
run  around  the  earth,  and  then  remember  that  the  day 
begins  at  any  place  the  instant  the  sun  gets  exactly 
over,  off  against,  or  opposite  the  meridian  of  that  place, 
and  when  the  sun  gets  round  to  that  meridian  again, 
that  day  ends  and  the  next  one  begins,  exactly  as  the 
boy's  bout  or  circuit  would  end  and  the  next  one  begin, 
the  instant  he  came  round  opposite  the  post  at  which 
he  began  it." 

"Yes,"  Guy  said,  "I  do  see  that,  and  I  think  I  can 
remember  it,  too." 

Do  yon  see  it,  and  do  you  think  you  can  remember  it? 

But  he  was  a  queer  fellow,  after  all,  for  on  referring 
to  his  diary  we  find  this  additional  entry : 

' '  But  I  don't  believe  in  calling  any  day  the  same  day  of 
the  month  as  we  called  the  day  before.  It  don't  seem 
right.  They  may  do  it  on  the  ship's  books  if  they  waut  to, 
but  I  won't  do  it  in  my  diary.  Every  time  the  sun  rises  I'm 
going  to  call  it  a  new  day,  and  count  it  one  day  later  in  the 
month  than  I  did  the  day  before." 

And  he  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  kept  on  in  his 
own  way  of  reckoning  till  he  finished  his  trip  round  the 
world  and  got  back  home  again.  When  he  reached 
homo  and  how  his  reckoning  came  out  we  shall  see 
pretty  soon. 

Meanwhile,  and  wholly  unexpectedly,  it  happened 
that  Hal  had  the  opportunity  of  making  the  "  grand 


THREE    CHBISTMASES    A    YEAR.  207 

round,"  too,  only  he  went  round  the  other  way.  Hal 
had  a  great  idea  of  building;  always  planning  and  cal 
culating  how  to  construct  houses,  bridges,  ships — in 
fact,  anything  that  could  be  built  of  wood  or  iron,  he 
loved  to  study  into  and  find  out.  And,  like  all  lads  of 
that  turn  of  mind,  he  had  a  perfect  passion  for  big 
ships,  and,  especially,  for  great  steamships.  So  he 
spent  the  greater  part  of  his  Saturdays  down  around  the 
piers,  and  on  board  the  grand  steamships,  where  he 
studied  them  so  closely  and  took  such  an  evident  inter 
est  in  everything  that  Captain  Cox,  who  was  captain  of 
everything  down  in  that  vicinity,  gradually  took  as  great 
a  liking  for  Hal  as  Hal  had  for  the  ships.  So  it  hap 
pened  that,  only  three  months  after  Guy  had  sailed, 
Captain  Cox  persuaded  one  of  the  Company's  captains 
who  was  going  to  New  York  to  bring  out  one  of  their  new 
steamships  by  the  way  of  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  to  take 
Hal  along  with  him.  As  Guy  had  already  gone  and  Mr. 
Kent  wished  to  take  his  family  East  that  summer,  he 
said  he  would  take  Hal  along  with  him  to  New  York, 
and  while  there  would  decide  the  matter  finally.  Long 
before  they  reached  New  York,  Mr.  Kent  himself  had 
taken  so  great  a  liking  to  the  captain  that  he  not  only 
consented  to  let  Hal  go  on  with  him,  but  said  he  would 
gladly  go  himself  and  take  the  whole  family  along,  if  he 
had  time.  So  it  came  to  pass  that  Hal  and  Guy  were 
steaming  round  the  world  in  opposite  directions  at  the 
same  time. 

Hal  kept  his  regular  journal  or  diary,  as  well  as  Guy, 
for  their  father  has  always  insisted  on  all  his  children's 
doing  that  as  soon  as  they  knew  how  to  write.  When 
Hal's  ship  got  round  into  the  Pacific,  and  reached  the 
same  meridian  where  Guy's  ship  had  "  doubled  a  day," 
as  he  said,  Hal's  captain  astonished  him  quite  as  much 


208  THREE    CHEISTMASES    A    YEAR. 

by  "dropping  a  day."  Hal  knew  a  little  about  longi 
tude  and  time,  but  not  enough  to  fully  understand  the 
whys  and  wherefores  of  the  operation,  even  after  all  the 
captain's  kindest  efforts  to  explain.  He  said  he  couldn't 
see  what  the  poor  day  had  done  that  it  couldn't  have  a 
fair  show>  anyway,  and  he  thought  it  the  coolest  case  of 
"  killing  time"  that  he  ever  saw.  So  he  stuck  to  his 
own  counting,  or  reckoning,  still  more  stoutly  than  Guy 
had,  if  possible,  until  he  too  had  gone  quite  round  the 
world  and  had  got  back  to  San  Francisco.  Neither  of 
them  traveled  steadily,  but  when  he  reached  some  city 
where  he  wished  to  stay  and  look  about  a  while,  he  did 
it.  Thus  it  happened  that  Hal,  who  made  the  last  part 
of  his  homeward  journey  by  way  of  the  Isthmus,  steam 
ing  along  up  the  California  coast,  was  just  off  Santa 
Cruz  when  Guy's  ship,  coming  across  from  China  and 
Japan,  was  just  passing  the  Farallones.  So,  by  the 
merest  chance  in  the  world,  they  reached  home  within 
five  hours  of  each  other,  on  the  day  before  Christmas. 
And  then  came  the  mix,  or  the  "mix-understanding," 
as  Fred  would  call  it.  He  knew  it  was  December  twen 
ty-fourth,  and  when  his  brothers  brought  out  their 
diaries  to  prove  him  wrong,  he  ran  and  got  the  almanac, 
and  the  calendar,  and  the  "Morning  Call,"  and  the 
"Alta"  for  that  morning,  and  showed  Guy  and  Hal  that 
all  these  standard  authorities  agreed  that  the  day  was 
December  twenty-fourth.  Then  he  showed  them  the 
advertisements  of  the  Christmas-eve  festivals  and  all  the 
good  things  in  which  San  Francisco  so  much  abounds, 
and  which  make  her  young  folks  and  old  folks  so  merry 
and  happy  during  the  holiday  season.  And  he  clinched 
his  whole  argument  by  "leaving  it  to  mother,"  who,  of 
course,  said  that  Fred  was  quite  right,  and  that  the 
next  day  would  be  Christmas,  sure. 


THREE    CHRISTMASES    A    TEAR.  209 

Guy  would  have  it  that  "to-day"  was  Christmas,  and 
said  he  could  prove  it  by  his  diary  and  by  the  ship's 
records,  and  by  the  testimony  of  every  passenger  that 
came  by  his  ship.  Hal  was  equally  sure  that  Christ 
mas  would  not  and  could  not  come  till  "day  after  to 
morrow,"  and  was  positive  that  he  could  bring  as  many 
proofs  that  he  was  right  as  Guy  could  to  prove  his  si.de 
of  the  story.  But  Fred  had  father  and  mother  and,  in 
fact/  the  whole  city  on  his  side,  so  the  other  boys  very 
pleasantly  agreed  that  it  would  be  of  no  use  for  each  of 
them  to  have  an  independent  Christmas  on  his  own  ac 
count,  and  that  when  one  is  in  Rome,  one  would  better 
do  as  the  Romans  do. 

The  boys  laughed  heartily  as  they  talked  over  their 
three  Christmases,  that  one  had  had,  that  another  was 
having,  and  the  third  was  going  to  have,  until  Fred 
looked  up  with  one  of  his  bright  flashes  and  said  that, 
after  all,  they  were  doing  a  still  more  wonderful  thing, 
for  they  were  actually  having  five  Christmases  all  the 
same  day.  The  other  boys  burst  out  laughing  at  this, 
until  Fred  proved  what  he  said,  or  at  least  he  said  he 
did,  by  asking  Guy  and  Hal  if  every  one  at  the  table 
was  not  having  his  own  Christmas  in  his  own  way,  and 
so  they  were  really  having  as  many  Christmases  as 
there  were  folks  at  the  table, — one  for  father,  one  for 
mother,  one  for  Guy,  one  for  Hal  and  one  for  Fred. 
Guy  fairly  shouted  at  that,  and  told  Fred  that  if  he  was 
going  to  reckon  in  that  way,  giving  a  separate  Christ 
mas  to  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  tho  United 
States,  he'd  have  to  have  more  than  forty-five  million 
Christmases  all  in  the  same  day,  and  that  would  be  vastly 
more  wonderful  and  a  great  sight  jollier  than  having 
three  different  Christmas-days  all  in  the  same  year. 
Fred  said  he  didn't  care,  Christmas  was  such  a  blessed 
14 


210  THREE    CHRISTMASES    A    YEAR. 

good  day  that  the  more  we  had  the  better,  so  he  only 
snapped  his  black  eyes  all  the  harder  and  said  that  he 
wouldn't  give  it  up  any  way.  And  I  really  don't  know 
whether  he's  got  that  Christmas  matter  fairly  into  his 
curly  pate,  yet. 

What  do  you  think  about  it  ?  Before  they  rose  from 
the  table,  Mr.  Kent  said  that  if  one  could  only  sail  fast 
enough  to  keep  right  under  the  sun,  that  is,  to  keep  the 
sun  right  overhead  all  day,  of  course  the  sun  could 
never  seem  to  rise  or  set,  so  that  the  same  day  would 
last  forever.  Guy  instantly  asked  his  father  if  that  was 
what  the  Bible  means  when  it  says  "a  thousand  years 
are  as  one  day."  Mr.  Kent  said  that  was  too  grand 
and  deep  a  subject  for  him  to  try  and  explain  then,  but 
if  we  keep  the  spirit  of  Him  whose  birthday  makes  the 
Christmas,  we  shall  know  all  about  it  by  and  by. 


*  *  *  In  answer  to  your  request,  I  send  the  following,  which  I 
read  recently  in  a  paper,  and  which  has  been  running  in  my  head  ever 
since.  Respectfully  yours, 

SCHUYLEB  COLFAX. 

"HE  liveth  long 

Who  liveth  well; 
All  other  life 

Is  brief  and  vain/' 

Also,  this  sentiment,  written  three  hundred  years  ago,  which  embodies 
the  same  idea: 

"  Count  that  day  lost,  whose  low-descending  sun 
Views  from  thy  hand  no  generous  action  done." 


MAN'S   DESTINY.  211 


MAN'S  DESTINY. 
BY   REV.   BROTHER  JUSTIN. 

MAN'S  destiny  is  the  possession  and  enjoyment  of  the 
Infinite, — of  God.  The  grandeur,  harmony  and  order 
of  the  universe  proclaim  this  truth.  The  aspirations, 
hopes  and  affections  of  the  human  heart  declare  it. 
Nature  and  art  point  to  God  as  the  beginning  and  end 
of  all  things.  The  beauty  and  symmetry  of  the  body; 
its  wondrous  organism,  its  mysterious  connection  with 
the  soul,  its  life  and  death, — all  give  hopes  of  a  future 
life.  If  we  analyze  the  human  mind,  its  flights  of  fancy, 
the  height  and  depth  and  length  and  breadth  of  thought; 
its  rapidity,  its  distinctness,  its  universality  and  its 
truth,  we  must  admit  its  object  can  be  nothing  short  of 
the  infinite.  It  looks  up  into  the  highest  heaven  and 
down  to  the  lowest  depths,  and  yet  is  not  satisfied.  The 
majesty  and  grandeur  of  its  conceptions,  as  seen  in  the 
works  of  science  and  art,  proclaim  knowledge  and  power 
and  order,  and  ceaseless  yearning  after  something  better 
than  earth  can  give.  Where  is  this  something  to  be 
found?  At  home,  in  our  heavenly  Father's  house. 

The  history  of  time  and  the  traditions  of  all  peoples 
show  unity  of  belief  in  the  existence  of  God  and  man's 
destiny.  There  are  a  few,  however,  who  not  only  deny 
that  man's  destiny  is  to  possess  and  enjoy  God,  but 
they  deny  the  very  existence  of  God.  They  may  be 
classed  as  rationalistic  and  materialistic  philosophers. 
They  embrace  the  German,  French  and  English  schools. 
The  rationalistic  have  some  of  the  fervid  imagination 
and  dreamy  mvsticism  of  the  Nyaya  or  Hindoo  philoso 
phy.  The  materialists  say  they  see  in  matter  the  power 
and  potency  of  all  things.  The  most  conservative,  the 


212  MAN'S   DESTINY. 

evolutionists,  relegate  the  existence  of  a  Supreme  Being 
and  man's  destiny  to  the  regions  of  the  unknowable. 

Consciously  or  unconsciously,  the  principles  involved 
in  evolution,  and  especially  in  the  theory  of  progress, 
underlie  all  the  infidel  speculations  of  the  age,  and  re 
sult  in  one  or  other  of  the  forms  of  Pantheism.  Evolu 
tion  is  the  theory  that  affirms  the  unity  of  substance 
and  its  self-evolution  into  the  universe,  under  the 
necessary  conditions,  attributes,  properties  or  laws  of 
its  own  being.  This  is  the  most  general  view,  abstract 
ing  what  may  be  said  of  the  nature  of  substance, 
the  manner  of  its  evolution  and  the  reality  underlying 
the  cosrnical  phenomena.  By  this  theory  there  is  but 
one  being;  consequently,  Man,  the  animal,  vegetable 
and  all  other  forms  of  being  are  but  modifications  of 
this  one. 

The  theory  of  progress  holds  that  beings  naturally 
develop  from  the  lesser  to  the  greater,  from  the  imper 
fect  to  the  perfect,  by  their  own  intrinsic  powers,  and 
without  other  influence  than  that  furnished  by  Nature. 
This  is  Darwinism,  which  is  evolution  of  the  highest 
from  the  lowest.  Mr.  Darwin,  in  his  "  Origin  of 
Species,"  and  "Descent  of  Man,"  brings  forward  a 
multiplicity  of  very  interesting  facts  which  show  his  in 
dustry  as  a  one-sided  observer;  but  not  one  does  he 
bring  forth  that  is  legitimately  even  a  probable  argu 
ment  of  his  theory.  Such  writers,  it  is  true,  do  not 
claim  certainty.  They  say  they  are  only  theorists. 
Now,  two  things  are  necessary  that  a  theory  may  be 
come  a  certainty :  First — It  must  explain  satisfactorily 
every  possible  fact  that  can  legitimately  come  under  it; 
and,  second,  it  must  prove  that  no  other  supposition 
can  account  for  the  fact  or  facts  in  question.  The  the 
orists  admit  there  are  things  they  do  not  know;  then 


MAN'S  DESTINY.  213 


they  cannot  give  the  required  proof,  the  conditions  to 
make  a  theory  a  certainty  are  not  present,  therefore 
there  is  in  their  case  no  true  science,  no  certainty. 
But,  say  the  scientists,  we  will  one  day  attain  certainty. 
Let  us  see. 

According  to  the  teachings  of  Pantheistic  scien 
tists,  principles  are  unknowable;  they  hold  the  doc 
trine  of  the  relativity  of  knowledge.  They  deny  the 
principle  of  cause  and  effect.  This  being  their  position, 
they  cannot  give  absolute  proof  of  anything  they  assert. 
It  is  an  axiom  that  nothing  cannot  produce  something. 
Therefore,  there  cannot  be  in  the  effect  what  is  not  in 
the  cause,  either  actually  or  virtually;  but  the  effect, 
Man,  clearly  transcends  the  cause,  whether  the  monkey 
or  other  inferior  animals,  assigned  by  the  Pantheists. 
If,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  we  admit  with  Huxley 
that  all  the  powers  of  man  and  the  animals  are  virtually 
in  the  germ,  the  one  or  many  primordial  germs,  and 
that  they  are  developed  successively  by  the  aid  of  ex 
ternal  physical  causes,  as  trees  from  seeds,  even  this 
supposition  will  not  hold.  Given  the  primordial  germs, 
or  any  subsequent  organism,  say  a  cat,  how  determine 
that  it  contains  the  germ  of  man's  powers  ?  All  inves 
tigation  and  analysis  must  be  on  dead  matter,  hence  the 
induction,  however  validly  drawn,  must  be  on  dead 
matter,  and  apply  only  to  dead  matter.  There  may  be, 
therefore,  in  the  vital  or  supercosmical  order,  some 
thing  which  destroys  the  application  of  the  induction  to 
vital  germs.  Take  all  the  inductions  of  which  the  Pan 
theists  speak,  either  the  conclusions  are  legitimately 
drawn  or  they  are  not.  If  they  are  not,  there  is  no 
proof,  and  there  the  matter  rests;  if  they  are,  they  fol 
low  in  the  order  and  to  the  extent  of  the  facts.  But  as 
we  have  seen,  the  Pantheists  admit  there  may  bo  an 


214  MAN'S  DESTINY. 

order  of  facts  distinct  from  the  cosmictil  or  visible  facts; 
they  therefore  can  never  have  certainty.  The  advocates 
of  infidelity,  in  all  their  theories  on  the  origin  of  things, 
are  obliged  to  postulate  some  reality  underlying  tho 
cosmical  phenomena,  and  they  affirm  that  this  thing  is 
uncreated.  It  follows  that  this  reality  must  be  eternal; 
if  eternal,  it  must  be  absolutely  unconditioned  in  its 
essence  and  state  of  being,  for  there  is  no  condition 
prior  to  it,  therefore  nothing  to  condition  it.  If  abso 
lutely  unconditioned,  it  must  be  immutable,  for  no 
change  can  take  place  unless  it  takes  place  under  somo 
condition.  Hence  the  reality  of  the  Cosmos  must  bo 
immutable  in  its  essence,  immutable  in  its  state  of  be 
ing,  and  therefore  the  doctrines  and  theories  of  all  Pan 
theists  are  false. 

It  is,  indeed,  strange  that  intellectual  men,  men  of 
deep  study  and  great  research,  but  of  still  greater  pre 
tension,  should  undertake  to  falsify  the  sublime  truths 
of  religion.  They  assert  without  a  particle  of  proof, 
traditional,  historical  or  scientific,  that  the  holy  Bible- 
is  not  the  word  of  the  Omniscient  God.  They  make  to 
themselves  a  bible  and  a  god  after  their  own  fashion, 
and  then  invite  men  to  fall  down  and  adore  the  vagaries 
of  their  imagination.  They  admit,  when  pressed  to 
give  a  proof  of  their  aberrations,  that  they  deal  only  in 
suppositions.  Yet  in  their  suppositions  temerity  they 
dare  to  deny  the  God  that  made  them;  and  would,  if 
they  could,  with  a  dash  of  the  pen,  strike  Him  out  of 
existence.  How  sublimely  simple,  how  beautifully  true 
is  the  account  in  the  holy  Bible  of  man's  origin  and 
destiny!  God  made  man  from  the  earth,  and  made  him 
after  his  own  image.  He  created  him  a  helpmate  like 
himself.  He  gave  them  counsel,  and  a  tongue,  eyes,  and 
ears,  and  a  heart  to  desire,  and  He  filled  them  with 


MAN'S  DESTINY.  215 

knowledge  and  understanding.  He  created  in  them  the 
science  of  the  spirit.  He  filled  their  hearts  with  wisdom, 
and  showed  them  both  good  and  evil;  and  their  eyes 
saw  the  majesty  of  His  glory,  and  their  ears  heard  His 
voice  when  He  said  to  them:  "  Beware  of  all  iniquity." 
Here  is  a  covenant,  a  law,  and  the  end  of  the  law  is 
justice  in  Christ  and  union  with  God.  "What  a  destiny! 
To  attain  it,  man  must  be  found  on  the  day  of  trial  con 
formable  to  the  image  of  His  Son.  He  must  be  pure 
and  holy.  He  must  do  the  will  of  the  Eternal  Father 
— he  must  observe  the  law; he  must  keep  the  Command 
ments:  "He  that  hath  my  commandments  and  keepeth 
them,  he  it  is  that  loveth  me." — "  He  that  doth  the  will 
of  my  Father,  who  is  in  heaven,  he  shall  enter  into  the 
kingdom  of  heaven."  Man,  then,  has  a  destiny,  a 
glorious  destiny.  He  feels  it,  he  knows  ifc.  There  is 
within  him  a  consciousness;  yea,  a  hope  that  never  dies. 
He  has  a  destiny,  a  grand  one.  Art  and  science  pro 
claim  it;  tradition  and  history  proclaim  it;  the  nations, 
tribes  and  tongues  proclaim  it;  all  creation  in  one 
magnificent  chorus  proclaims  it;  and  it  is  only  the  fool 
that  says  in  his  heart  there  is  no  God.  Man  has  a  des 
tiny,  then,  equal  to  all  the  yearnings,  the  longings,  the 
desires,  the  capabilities  of  the  soul;  one  that  buoys  up 
the  heart  in  the  dreariest  moments  of  life;  one  that 
spreads  out  before  the  mind  visions  of  limitless  beauty; 
that  gives  to  the  will  a  divine  basis  for  action,  and  to 
the  whole  soul  the  bright  promise  of  the  fruition  of  a 
good  life, — union  with  its  God  forever.  What  a  destiny 
is  here,  to  see  and  enjoy  God;  to  know  all  things  as  they 
are,  to  love  with  all  the  affections,  and  to  feel  that  that 
love  is  reciprocated;  to  have  power,  and  knowledge, 
and  wisdom  and  happiness,  and  to  be  certain  of  losing 


216  KISMET. 

them  never!  This  is  grand.  In  thinking  of  it,  the  be 
lieving,  grateful  soul  cries  out  in  the  fullness  of  its  joy : 
Thou  art  good,  Oh!  Lord,  and  worthy  of  honor  and 
glory  and  praise  forever  and  ever. 


KISMET. 

BY  THOMAS  J.  VIVIAN. 

AN  Arab  sits  at  the  door  of  his  tent, 

Allah,  Bismillah,  God  is  great! 
And  his  eyes  on  the  western  skies  are  bent; 

Kismet,  Kismet,  such  is  fate! 
He  waits  and  he  waits  for  a  traveling  gent, 

Allah,  Akbar,  God  is  great! 
To  whom  his  goafs-hair  mat  he  lent, 

Kismet,  Kismet,  such  is  fate! 
But  the  mat  will  never  come  back  as  it  went, 

Allah,  Bismillah,  God  is  great! 
And  that  Arab  still  sits  at  the  door  of  his  tent, 

Effendi,  backsheesh,  such  is  fate! 
With  his  beard  all  torn  and  his  burnous  rent, 

Khoran  Mahmoud,  God  is  great! 
His  wife  chastised  as  an  anger's  vent, 

Bastinado,  such  is  fate! 
Whilst  he  sighs  as  a  sorrowful  sort  of  lament, 

Yenge,  Akbar,  God  is  great! 

Kismet,  Kismet,  such  is  fate ! 


PHILLIS    WHEATLEY.  217 


PHILLIS  WHEATLEY. 

BY  BENSON  J.  LOSSING. 

ONE  beautiful  morning  in  May,  1761,  Mrs.  Wheatley, 
wife  of  a  merchant,  went  to  the  Boston  slave-market  to 
purchase  a  female  child  that  she  might  rear  to  be  ;i 
faithful  nurse  for  her  mistress  in  her  old  age.  A  cargo 
of  slaves  had  arrived  at  Newport  from  the  Guinea  coast 
the  week  before,  and  a  part  of  them  had  been  sent  to 
the  Boston  market.  Among  the  latter  were  several 
plump,  healthy  looking  children,  but  Mrs.  Wheatley  was 
more  attracted  by  one  of  delicate  frame,  intelligent  face 
and  modest  demeanor,  who  sat  in  a  corner,  wrapped 
about  in  a  piece  of  dirty  carpet.  The  soft,  sweet  voice 
of  Mrs.  Wheatley  warmed  the  heart  of  the  little  waif, 
and  she  clung  to  the  hand  of  the  good  woman  as  to  that 
of  a  mother,  when  she  was  led  away  to  the  chaise  of  Mrs. 
Wheatley.  The  child  seemed  to  be  about  seven  years 
of  age,  with  apt  imitative  powers,  and  she  was  given  the 
name  of  Phillis.  She  soon  began  to  understand  the 
language  of  her  mistress  and  to  speak  a  few  words  in 
telligibly.  She  seemed  to  have  but  little  knowledge  of 
the  place  where  she  was  born,  but  remembered  it  was 
near  a  large  stream  of  water,  with  tall  trees  standing 
around  the  dwelling  which  was  covered  with  branches 
and  grass.  She  also  remembered  seeing  her  mother, 
who  was  a  tall,  stout  woman,  pour  out  water  from  a 
calabash  before  the  sun  at  its  rising. 

With  the  development  of  her  intellectual  faculties,  the 
moral  nature  of  Phillis  kept  pace.  Mrs.  Wheatley's 
daughter  taught  the  girl  to  read  and  write,  and  her 
progress  in  learning  was  wonderful.  Before  she  was 
ten  years  of  age  she  could  read  the  Bible  fluently.  She 


218  PHILLIS    WHEATLEY. 

was  extremely  amiable,  perfectly  docile,  and  beloved  by 
all  who  knew  her.  As  she  grew  to  young  womanhood 
she  attracted  attention,  and  as  she  read  books  with 
great  avidity,  she  was  supplied  with  a  variety.  Her 
mistress  was  very  indulgent,  and  allowed  her  ample  time 
for  study  and  improvement. 

Piety  was  a  controlling  element  of  jPhillis's  nature, 
and  tears  of  gratitude  to  God  and  her  kind  mistress 
often  filled  her  eyes.  As  she  advanced  in  life,  her 
thoughts  found  expression  in  poetry.  One  morning  in 
June  when  Nature  was  dressed  in  the  plentitude  of  its 
riches,  she  was  in  the  garden  before  sunrise  plucking 
flowers,  as  usual,  to  place  before  her  mistress  at  table. 
Around  the  stems  she  neatly  wrapped  a  piece  of  white 
paper,  on  which  she  had  written  a  poem  while  sitting 
under  a  blooming  peach-tree,  commencing  with  the  fol 
lowing  stanza: 

"  'Twas  Mercy  brought  me  from  my  pagan  land, 
Taught  my  benighted  soul  to  understand 
That  there's  a  God, — that  there's  a  Savior,  too: 
Once  I  redemption  neither  sought  nor  knew." 

Sometimes  her  compositions  were  in  prose,  but  more 
frequently  they  took  the  form  of  verse.  Phillis  was 
often  a  guest  in  the  families  of  the  rich  and  learned,  for 
she  was  regarded  as  a  prodigy.  Her  mistress  treated 
her  as  if  she  were  her  own  child,  and  was  very  fond  of 
her  ward.  On  one  occasion,  Phillis  was  away  from 
home  on  a  visit,  and  as  the  weather  was  inclement,  Mrs. 
Wheatley  sent  one  of  her  slaves  with  the  chaise  for  her. 
Prince,  a  colored  servant,  took  his  seat  by  the  side  of 
Phillis.  As  they  drew  up  before  the  house  and  their 
mistress  saw  them,  the  good  woman  indignantly  ex 
claimed:  "Do  but  look  at  the  saucy  varlet;  he  has  had 


PHILLIS    WIIEATLEY.  219 

the  impudence  to  sit  upon  the  same  seat  with  Pbillis!" 
The  man-servant  was  severely  reprimanded  for  his  for- 
getfuluess  of  the  dignity  of  Phillis. 

When  Phillis  was  about  sixteen  years  of  age,  she  be 
came  a  communicant  at  the  "  Old  South  Church  "in 
Boston,  of  which  the  venerable  Dr.  Joseph  Sewell  was 
then  pastor.  Earlier  than  that  event,  she  had  written 
several  poems,  remarkable  for  vigor  of  thought,  correct 
rythm,  pathos  in  expression,  and  piety  in  sentiment. 

The  health  of  Phillis  became  so  feeble  in  the  summer 
of  1773,  that  a  sea  voyage  for  her  was  recommended. 
A  son  of  Mr.  Wheatley  going  to  England,  Phillis 
accompanied  him.  Her  fame  as  a  poet  having  gone 
before  her,  in  certain  circles  she  was  cordially  received 
by  distinguished  persons.  Among  them  were  Lord 
Dartmouth  and  Selina  Shirley,  Countess  of  Hunting 
don,  the  distinguished  patroness  of  the  Calvinistic 
Methodists,  for  whom  she  built  chapels,  disposing  of 
her  fine  equipage  and  jewels  to  obtain  the  money  for 
the  purpose.  While  Phillis  was  in  England,  her  poems 
were  collected  and  published,  with  a  dedication  to  the 
Countess  of  Huntingdon,  and  attracted  great  attention. 
The  book  was  embellished  with  a  portrait  of  her,  in 
profile,  in  which  she  is  represented  with  a  close-fitting 
cape,  sleeves  open  nearly  to  the  elbow,  and  a  plain  white 
kerchief  covering  her  neck  and  bosom.  She  was  per 
suaded  to  remain  in  London  until  the  return  of  the 
Court,  so  as  to  be  presented  to  the  King;  but  hearing  of 
the  declining  health  of  her  mistress,  she  hastened  home. 
That  kind  friend  was  soon  laid  in  the  grave,  and  Phillis 
grieved  as  deeply  as  any  of  her  children. 

Mr.  Wheatley  died  soon  after  the  decease  of  his  wife; 
and  his  only  daughter  lived  but  a  few  months  longer. 
Phillis  was  left  destitute  and  desolate.  A  very  intelli- 


220  rillLLIS     WHEATLEY. 

gent  free  colored  man  named  Peters,  offered  his  hand  to 
the  orphan,  and  it  was  accepted.  He  proved  to  be 
utterly  unworthy  of  the  gentle  creature  whom  he  had 
wedded,  and  her  life  was  embittered  by  neglect  and 
even  cruelty.  They  went  into  the  country  to  live,  in 
1777,  but  soon  returned  to  Boston. 

The  misfortunes  of  Phillis  seem  to  have  silenced  her 
muse,  for  she  wrote  nothing  of  much  excellence  after 
the  publication  of  the  volume  of  her  poems  in  1773,  and 
the  death  of  her  mistress,  excepting  a  poetic  epistle  to 
Washington,  dated  October  26,  1775,  while  he  was 
prosecuting  the  siege  of  Boston.  He  answered  it  011 
the  twenty-eighth  day  of  the  following  February,  as 
follows : 

"  Miss  PHILLIS:  Your  favor  of  the  twenty-sixth  of  October 
did  not  reach  my  hands  until  the  middle  of  December. 
Time  enough,  you  might  say,  to  have  given  an  answer  ere 
this.  Granted.  But  a  variety  of  important  occurrences 
continually  interposing  to  distract  my  mind  and  withdraw 
my  attention,  will,  I  hope,  apologize  for  the  delay,  and  I 
plead  this  excuse  for  the  seeming  but  not  real  neglect.  I 
thank  you  most  sincerely  for  your  polite  notice  of  me  in 
the  elegant  lines  you  enclosed;  and  however  undeserving  I 
may  be  of  such  encomium  and  panegyric,  the  style  and 
manner  exhibit  a  striking  proof  of  your  poetical  talents;  in 
honor  of  which,  and  as  a  tribute  justly  due  to  you,  I  would 
have  published  the  poem  had  I  not  been  apprehensive  that, 
while  I  only  meant  to  give  the  world  this  new  instance  of 
your  genius,  I  might  have  incurred  the  imputation  of  van 
ity.  This,  and  nothing  else,  determined  me  not  to  give  it 
a  place  in  the  public  prints. 

If  you  should  ever  corne  to  Cambridge,  or  near  head 
quarters,  I  shall  be  happy  to  see  a  person  so  favored  by  the 


PHILLIS    WHEATLEY.  221 

Muses,  and  to  whom  nature  has  been  so  liberal  and  benefi 
cent  in  her  dispensations. 

I  am,  with  great  respect,  your  obedient,  humble  servant. 

GEO.  WASHINGTON." 

Phillis  was  then  living  near  Waltham  with  a  whig 
family  who  had  fled  from  Boston.  She  soon  afterward 
married,  as  before  stated,  and  led  an  unhappy  life  with 
her  husband  several  years,  when  he  abandoned  her.  A 
few  years  more  of  misery  were  endured,  when  the 
golden  bowl  of  her  life  was  broken.  In  a  filthy  apart 
ment,  in  an  obscure  part  of  Boston,  that  gifted  woman 
whose  childhood  and  youth  had  been  passed  in  ease, 
even  luxury,  was  allowed  to  perish  alone  !  Phillis 
Wheatley  died  on  the  fifth  of  December,  1794,  when  she 
was  about  forty-one  years  of  age. 

Such,  in  brief,  is  a  record  of  the  career  of  a  poor, 
captive  African  child,  cast  on  the  shores  of  another 
continent,  more  than  three  thousand  miles  from  her 
birth-place;  rising  to  a  certain  eminence  in  the  world  of 
letters,  and  becoming  an  exemplary  Christian  wife  and 
mother.  Her  life  presents  various  useful  lessons  for  the 
contemplation  of  the  thoughtful. 


222  CHARITY    KINDERGARTENS. 


CHAEITY  KINDEBGAKTENS. 

BY  MRS.  MARY  (HORACE)  MANN. 

THE  establishment  of  kindergartens  in  America  has 
been  of  slow  growth.  In  Austria,  no  sooner  was  their 
true  significance  seen  by  the  friends  of  education,  than 
the  Government  decreed  that  the  kindergarten  must  be 
at  the  basis  of  all  education.  The  ignorant  stand  in  the 
relation  of  children  to  the  educated,  and  it  cannot  be 
denied,  we  think,  that  it  is  the  duty  of  those  who  enjoy 
a  privilege  to  take  measures  that  less  favored  classes 
shall  be  put  in  the  way  oi  sharing  it.  The  truly  benev 
olent  man  cannot  enjoy  happiness  if  he  feels  that  others 
are  shut  out  from  it.  The  theory  of  our  Government  is 
that  there  shall  be  no  monopoly  of  happiness  or  well- 
being;  but  till  moral  education  is  in  the  ascendency,  the 
fear  is  that  it  will  remain  a  theory  and  not  be  lived  up 
to.  Dr.  Erasmus  Schwab,  of  Vienna,  in  a  late  work 
called  "  The  School-garden,"  says  justly  that  the  meas 
ure  of  the  advancement  of  any  given  community  depends 
upon  the  'attention  bestowed  upon  public  education. 
Every  well-to-do  man  attends,  more  or  less  intelligently, 
to  the  education  of  his  own  children;  but  it  is  only  the 
truly  enlightened  who  realize  that  the  greatest  help  to 
the  good  education  of  their  own  children,  is  that  the  ed 
ucation  of  all  shall  be  secured.  "None  can  be  clean 
unless  all  are  clean,"  is  a  true  saying  of  Hawthorne  iii 
"  Our  Old  Home." 

If  it  were  not  for  benevolent  exceptions  to  the  general 
apathy  of  society  about  public  improvement,  we  should 
get  on  very  slowly  about  radical  reforms.  Individuals 
endowed  with  good  causality  and  warm  hearts  com 
bined,  start  out  occasionally  and  devote  themselves  to 


CHARITY    KINDERGARTENS.  223 

some  great  amelioration  of  society.  They  see  the  bear- 
iugs  of  such  ideas  as  lie  at  the  basis  of  some  great  im 
provement,  and  give  themselves,  heart  and  hand,  to  the 
work  on  such  a  scale  that  the  blind  are  made  to  see 
what  otherwise  would  have  been  hidden  from  them. 

The  cause  of  kindergartens,  as  this  paper  began  by 
asserting,  has  been  of  slow  growth,  but  an  extra  effort,, 
carried  into  effect  by  the  zeal  of  Miss  Elizabeth  Peabody, 
who  had  long  been  interested  in  the  subject,  and  who 
went  to  Europe  to  study  into  it,  to  have  a  kindergarten 
in  full  operation  at  the  Centennial  Exposition  in  Phila 
delphia,  gave  a  sudden  impetus  to  it.  The  teacher  se 
lected  for  the  duty  organized  a  class  of  poor  children  at 
an  orphan-house  in  Philadelphia,  and  though  thwarted 
in  every  possible  way  by  the  jealousy  of  the  Matron  and 
other  officials,  succeeded  by  undaunted  perseverance  in 
gaining  the  affections  and  the  confidence  of  the  children, 
and  thus  developing  in  them  the  faculties  which  had 
hitherto  been  hidden  under  a  bushel,  so  that  visitors 
from  all  parts  of  the  country  thronged  the  pretty  little 
building  that  was  erected  for  the  purpose  in  the  Ladies' 
Department,  and  saw  for  themselves  what  good,  sys 
tematic  training  of  the  faculties  and  cultivation  of  the 
kindly  affections  could  develop  in  little  children  under 
six  years  of  age. 

Private  kindergartens  had  convinced  many  mothers 
that  such  training,  intellectual  and  social,  had  great 
advantages  over  even  the  best  homes,  because  it  put 
children  among  their  equals  in  age,  and  taught  them  to 
bear  and  forbear,  instead  of  being  petted  and  rebuffed 
alternately,  as  all  children  are,  more  or  less,  in  their 
homes  where  the  circle  consists  of  children  of  different 
ages  and  different  wants,  so  that  systematic  treatment 
is  almost  impossible.  It  was  found  that  three  hours  a 


224  CHARITY    KINDERGARTENS. 

day  of  such  life  organized  the  minds  and  regulated  the 
lives  of  the  children  wonderfully.  Babes  of  three  and 
four  years,  who  fretted  in  the  nursery,  were  made  per 
fectly  happy  in  the  kindergartens,  where  punishments 
were  not  required,  because  all  were  happily  employed, 
and  taught  by  love  to  treat  one  another  lovingly,  110  un 
necessary  collisions  of  self-interest  being  in  the  way. 
It  is  not  meant  by  this  that  occasions  of  self-control 
and  disinterested  action  do  not  sometimes  arise  in 
kindergartens;  but  those  who  have  studied  child-naturo 
most  deeply,  know  that  an  appeal  to  the  higher  senti 
ments  in  children  always  meets  with  a  response,  condi 
tions  being  equal.  The  child  that  has  been  driven  to 
selfishness  and  self-defense  because  his  rights  have  been 
ignored,  finds  himself  treated  with  uniform  kindness 
and  respect  (the  latter  is  too  often  forgotten  in  the  treat 
ment  of  children),  and  is  disarmed  of  his  shield  of  self 
ishness  and  self-defense,  and  becomes  generous  and 
humble.  These  effects  seen  in  kindergartens  kept  for 
children  who  were  sometimes  as  well  taken  care  of  as 
they  can  be  at  home,  made  the  benevolent  feel  that  tho 
neglected  children  of  the  streets  ought  to  share  in  such 
benefits,  and  an  effort  was  made  to  gather  some  of  them 
together. 

Happily,  a  true  Massachusetts  woman,  who  is  very 
wealthy,  determined  to  try  the  experiment  on  a  large 
scale,  and  now  supports  twenty  or  more  charity  kinder 
gartens,  at  an  annual  expense  of  not  less  than  $1200  for 
each.  She  planted  them  at  first  in  various  places, 
singly.  In  Cambridge  she  supports  four,  in  Boston 
six.  The  effect  surpasses  all  expectation.  Children 
are  gathered  in  from  the  streets,  from  three  years  old  to 
six;  profane,  obscene,  thieving,  untruthful,  quarrel 
some,  untidy,  half-clothed  and  half-fed;  many  with  in- 


CHARITY    KINDERGARTENS.  225 

temperate  parents,  who  manage  them  only  with  blows 
and  harsh  words.  From  actual  observation  the  state 
ment  is  here  made  that  in  three  weeks  such  children 
are  quiet,  orderly,  affectionate  to  one  another,  display 
bright  faculties  in  their  occupations,  drop  all  bad  lan 
guage  while  in  the  kindergarten,  and  often  when  out  of 
it;  behave  well  in  the  street,  and  are  little  shining  lights 
at  home.  Of  course  it  takes  time  to  deepen  these  im 
pressions,  but  the  very  faces  of  the  mothers  change 
their  expression  under  the  silent  instruction  that  flows 
from  the  influence  of  the  teachers,  who  become  oracles 
to  them  as  well  as  to  their  children,  and  of  whom  the 
mothers  speak  as  if  they  were  ministering  angels,  whose 
patience  and  wisdom  surpass  their  understanding,  but 
become  undeniable  facts.  In  the  mothers'  meetings, 
which  are  adjuncts  of  these  kindergartens,  they  speak 
of  the  wonderful  effects  upon  their  children,  who,  they 
say,  are  exemplary  in  their  conduct. 

In  Cambridge,  as  many  as  eighty  children,  in  differ 
ent  parts  of  the  city,  are  under  this  benign  treatment. 
In  some  of  the  kindergartens  where  the  teachers  are 
gifted  in  that  respect,  the  singing  of  the  children  is  ex 
ceedingly  good.  Their  every  act,  as  it  were,  is  set  to 
music.  When  they  move  from  their  seats  to  the  play- 
ring  they  join  hands  and  personate  a  river,  with  beauti 
ful  descriptive  verses,  or  march  in  unison,  or  hop 
together,  and  the  symbolic  plays  are  attended  at  times 
with  calisthenic  exercises.  All  the  kindergartens  have 
model  gardens,  and  the  school-yard  of  one  public  school 
building  in  which  the  city  has  granted  a  room  for  a 
kindergarten,  a  charity  kindergarten,  not  included  in  the 
public-school  system,  the  same  presiding  spirit  has 
ornamented  with  a  garden  border  of  six  feet,  for  the 
children;  and  has  extended  this  boon  to  all  the  children 
15 


226  CHARITY    KINDERGARTENS. 

of  the  primary  school  kept  in  the  same  building.  An 
other  kindergarten  is  in  a  new  police  building,  by  per 
mission  of  the  city  council.  A  day  nursery  is  soon  to 
be  added  under  the  same  auspices,  and  out  of  the  same 
purse,  in  which  children  from  the  age  when  they  begin 
to  speak  and  run  about,  are  to  be  kept  from  eight  in  the 
morning  till  six  in  the  evening,  when  the  mothers  wish 
to  go  out  to  work,  or  are  disabled  by  sickness. 

After  a  year  spent  in  these  kindergartens,  and,  truly, 
long  before,  these  children  behave  as  well  as  those  in 
the  aristocratic  kindergartens.  The  characteristics  are 
different.  The  poor  children  are  sometimes  taught  to 
steal  and  to  £wear  by  their  own  parents,  and  it  takes 
time  to  put  new  ideas  into  their  heads  and  hearts;  but 
one  of  the  instructors  testifies  that,  whereas  stealing 
was  as  natural  as  breathing  to  them  when  they  first 
came,  she  can  now,  after  a  year,  trust  all  but  a  few,  even 
in  leaving  money  on  her  table.  Her  first  efforts  are 
directed  to  eradicating  the  stealing  propensity,  and  then 
she  feels  as  if  the  ground  were  prepared  for  an  attack 
upon  the  untruthfulness  that  so  generally  prevails  with 
these  children,  and  which  is  taught  them  both  by  exam 
ple  and  by  unjust  treatment. 

I  presume  ifc  may  be  said  of  some  children  who  are 
treated  unjustly,  as  truly  as  it  may  be  said  of  slaves, 
that  the  brightest  are  the  most  untruthful  and  artful. 
Is  not  this  natural  ?  It  is  their  only  self-defense,  and 
the  natural  man.  I  do  not  mean  the  normal  man  who  is 
the  highest  type,  as  the  natural  man  is  the  lowest,  will 
of  course  use  his  wits  to  shield  himself  from  blame  or 
injury.  How  generally  falsehood  in  children  is  the 
fault  of  others  rather  than  any  innate  sin! 

The  only  other  place  in  Massachusetts  where  all  the 
conditions  are  the  best  for  kindergartens,  is  the  manu- 


CHAEITY    KINDERGARTENS.  227 

factoring  town  of  Florence,  where  a  capitalist  who  has 
retired  from  business  has  erected  a  noble  building, 
surrounded  with  gardens,  for  the  express  purpose  of 
devoting  it  to  kindergartens.  He  has  invited  all  the 
people  in  the  town,  rich  and  poor,  gentle  and  simple, 
to  send  their  little  children,  and  promises  to  pay  all  the 
expenses  they  cannot  reasonably  defray.  In  the  four 
large  and  beautiful  halls  are  as  many  large  classes, 
tinder  their  respective  teachers,  superintended  by  a 
Matron  who  is  a  mother,  and  who  enters  fully  into  the 
spirit  of  Mr.  Hill,  who  may  be  said  to  be  one  of  the 
few  capitalists  that  recognize  their  divine  mission  of 
elevating  those  who  have  not  the  means  of  elevating 
themselves.  Probably,  education  in  all  its  stages  will 
be  modified  in  Florence  by  the  kindergarten  which 
forms  its  basis,  for  it  is  seen  to  work  upward  wherever  it 
has  gained  a  footing.  In  the  kindergarten  of  Misses  Gar 
land  and  Weston,  who  also  conduct  the  Boston  Train 
ing  School  for  Kindergartners,  are  three  stages  of  in 
struction  on  that  principle.  The  first  advanced  class 
includes  reading,  writing,  and  some  other  light  studies, 
such  as  elementary  geography  and  written  arithmetic, 
mental  arithmetic  being  the  natural  growth  of  the  kin 
dergarten. 

In  a  still  higher  class,  in  another  story  of  the  build 
ing,  is  a  school  of  children  from  the  kindergartens  be 
low,  in  which  the  sciences  are  taught  from  observations 
of  nature,  and  in  which  other  studies  are  collateral,  like 
composition,  advanced  geography,  mathematics,  etc., 
the  natural  sciences  being  the  basis.  This  course  we 
hope  in  time  to  see  substituted  for  the  text-book  teach 
ing  of  the  common  schools.  But  we  must  possess  our 
souls  in  patience  for  this.  The  difficulty  of  convincing, 
even  the  most  educated  class,  of  the  advantage  of  train- 


228  CHAEITY    KINDERGARTENS. 

ing  the  artistic  faculties  and  the  hand  before  cultivating 
reflection,  has  been  so  long  and  tedious  that  we  cannot 
expect  the  general  public  to  give  up  what  may  be  called 
the  crude  conception  of  education,  whicli  is  reading  and 
writing.  Custom  is  the  greatest  of  all  tyrants,  and  one 
often  hears  the  parents  of  the  brightest  and  best  chil 
dren  of  the  kindergarten  say,  "It  is  time  now  for  my 
child  to  be  learning  something,"  as  if  the  cultivation  of 
its  observation,  attention,  artistic  power,  thinking,  the 
use  of  language  and  power  of  expression,  the  training 
of  the  voice,  the  physical  exercises,  the  expansion  of 
the  imaginative  power — as  if  all  this  was  not  "learning 
something,"  as  if  it  were  not  more  valuable  than  any 
amountof  facts  that  are  unrelated,  and  learned  in  a  desul 
tory  manner.  The  faculty  of  comparison,  which  is  at 
the  foundation  of  all  thinking,  is  wonderfully  developed 
in  children  trained  in  genuine  kindergartens.  But  the 
spurious  kindergartens  that  afflict  the  land  are  respon 
sible  for  much  of  this  misapprehension.  The  friends 
of  Froebel's  idea,  those  who  understand  it,  will  long 
have  to  battle  with  these  pretenders,  who  are  wolves  in 
sheep's  clothing,  and  retard  the  reform. 

To  the  listening  ear  we  could  demonstrate  the  effect 
of  these  charity  kindergartens,  by  relating  a  hundred 
anecdotes  about  the  children — instances  of  self-con 
trol,  of  self-forgetfulness  and  sympathy  for  others. 
The  development  of  their  spiritual  natures,  the  recogni 
tion  of  principles,  is  the  most  interesting  of  these  ob 
servations.  We  do  not  speak  of  ecclesiasticism.  There 
must  be  no  formality  here,  no  set  words  which  mean 
nothing  to  children;  we  want  something  only  to  be 
inspired  by  the  teacher.  In  a  poetical  couplet,  an  idea 
or  a  sentiment  may  be  conveyed  that  will  reappear  at 


CHAEITY    KINDERGARTENS.  229 

some  unexpected  moment  in  an  original  form,  showing 
that  it  has  been  assimilated.  Music  aids  this  work  won 
derfully.  The  children  sometimes  break  out  with  words 
from  a  song  of  which  they  see  the  appropriateness  to 
their  circumstances.  No  praise  should  profane  such 
manifestations;  sympathy  only  is  wanted,  and  that  as 
impersonal  as  possible.  Children  should  not  be  re 
quired  to  do  right  in  order  to  please  the  teacher,  or  any 
one  else,  as  is  sometimes  done  even  in  some  kindergar 
tens;  but  it  is  a  departure  from  the  true  idea,  which  is 
that  of  unfolding,  in  spiritual  matters,  and  not  even  of 
reproducing,  which  is  legitimate  in  intellectual  matters, 
if  the  idea  given  is  reproduced  in  action.  To  do  right 
because  it  is  right  and  self-respecting,  is  not  above  little 
children.  That  is  the  way  love  acts,  and  if  the  in 
structor  sees  it,  the  child  will  see  it,  or,  perhaps  I 
should  say,  will  feel  it,  for  it  is  "  out  of  the  heart  that 
are  the  issues  of  life." 

The  slightest  rebuff  will  often  close  a  child's  lips  for 
months,  perhaps  longer.  Sympathy  is  the  only  atmos 
phere  for  spiritual  development.  The  teacher  must  be 
humble  and  willing  to  learn  of  the  child,  who  often 
teaches  what  books  cannot.  The  true  kindergarten 
teachers  must  grow  continually.  Many  have  expressed 
strongly  that  for  the  first  time  since  their  study  of  the 
subject,  have  they  realized  their  own  powers  or  the  sig 
nificance  of  life;  and  the  superior  ones  wish  to  go  into 
the  "charity"  work,  which  is  the  most  arduous,  because 
part  of  the  duty  is  outside  of  the  regular  kindergarten's 
hours.  Let  us  have  charity  kindergartens  everywhere. 
We  here  think  it  the  best  lever  for  elevating  society,  be 
cause  ifc  begins  at  the  very  foundation,  and  because  it 
has  revealed  the  true  order  of  the  development  of  the 


230  CHARITY    KINDERGARTENS. 

faculties,  for  which  the  true  seekers  had  long  groped, 
but  which  Froebel  actually  did  discover,  and  perhaps 
Rousseau  before  him.  However,  Froebel  united  with 
it  a  profound  system  of  ethics,  which  Rousseau  failed 
to  do,  and  therefore  failed  of  the  desired  end. 

A  good  way  to  become  acquainted  with  Froebel's  sys 
tem  is  to  read  Baroness  Billow's  ' '  Reminiscences  of  Froe 
bel,"  which  is  an  account  of  her  intercourse  with  him  the 
four  last  years  of  life,  when  she  had  an  opportunity,  by 
her  position,  to  bring  him  into  acquaintanceship  with 
the  foremost  educators  in  Germany,  with  whom  he 
talked  freely.,  and  whom  he  brought  to  recognize  and 
acknowledge  the  profoundness  of  his  insight  into  the 
fundamental  principles  of  human  culture.  The  cultiva 
tion  of  character  is  the  main  object  in  education,  and 
that  is  secured  by  this  system.  The  moral  element  in 
culture  has  not  been  given  its  due  place  hitherto,  and 
intellectual  training  divorced  from  it  is  only  giving 
greater  power  to  evil.  No  one  should  be  trusted  with 
knowledge  who  does  not  wield  it  for  good  uses.  Love 
and  thinking  must  go  hand  in  hand,  as  the  poet  says, 
and  this  principle  can  be  instilled  into  early  childhood. 


A    CALIFORNIA    BOY    ABROAD.  231 


A  CALIFORNIA  BOY  ABEOAD. 

BY  MASTER  CHARLES  B.  HILL. 

LIKE  the  disgusted  Britisher  I  would  say,  that  if 
"Britannia  rules  the  waves,"  I  wish  she'd  rule  them 
straighter.  With  the  memory  of  many  "  troubles  in  the 
interior"  strong  upon  me,  I  pass  over  the  days  that 
lagged  along  after  the  Golden  Gate  was  closed  to  sight, 
and  take  up  my  diary  at  the  time  when  I  first  saw  the 
April  sun  shining  upon  the  waters  of  Yeddo  bay. 

Before  we  reached  Yokohama  we  steamed  forty-five 
miles  up  Yeddo  bay.  The  scenery  up  the  channel  is 
beautiful;  steep,  honey-combed  cliffs  and  profuse  verd 
ure  everywhere  meeting  the  eye.  The  profusion  ex 
tends  to  other  things  than  foliage,  the  waters  of  the  bay 
being  crowded  with  fish,  in  Avhose  pursuit  are  crowds  of 
fishermen.  Two  boats  take  up  a  station;  those  in  one 
boat  drop  out  a  big  bag-shaped  net,  and  those  in  the 
other  boat  pull  about,  splash  the  water,  shout  and  howl 
like  so  many  madmen.  The  fish  foolish  enough  to  get 
scared  run  into  the  net  and  are  hauled  up.  Yeddo  bay, 
at  no  place  particularly  deep,  shallows  up  considerably 
towards  Yokohama.  Steamers  do  not  touch  at  wharves 
as  in  San  .Francisco,  but  anchor  out  a  mile  from  the 
Hatabar  or  landing-place. 

Having  answered  the  lighthouse  signals  and  shut  off 
steam,  we  next  saluted  the  United  States  steamer  * '  Ten 
nessee,"  which  was  in  port.  As  soon  as  we  had  swung 
to,  stream-boats  innumerable  surrounded  us,  amongst 
them  being  gigs  from  the  "Tennessee"  and  other  vessels, 
and  a  steam-tug  bearing  a  custom-house  officer.  All  the 
rest  were  sampans,  rowed  by  a  man  and  boy,  or  woman 
and  girl,  laden  with  fruit  and  curios,  or  else  men  clamor- 


232  A    CALIFORNIA    BOY    ABROAD. 

ing  for  passengers.  Amongst  them  were  runners  for 
hotels,  who  shouted  the  "Grand,"  and  the  "Inter 
national,"  with  such  well-remembered  harshness  that  it 
made  me  feel  quite  homesick.  Our  stay  in  Japanese 
waters  was  limited  to  a  few  hours  only.  Chartering  a 
sampan,  I  started  for  shore  with  a  companion.  No 
sooner  had  we  touched  land  than  a  whole  lot  of  bare 
legged  Japs  scampered  off  and  made  a  break  for  the  city 
gate,  which,  Avhen  we  arrived  there,  we  found  barred  by 
all  these  fellows  between  the  shafts  of  their  respective 
jinrickshas.  The  jinricksha  is  a  two-wheeled  vehicle, 
light  in  build  and  gaily  painted,  just  for  all  the  world 
like  an  enormous  perambulator  with  a  hood,  which  can 
be  put  up  or  lowered  at  pleasure.  Generally  it  is  run 
by  a  single  coolie  in  the  shafts,  but  for  a  longer  journey 
another  pushes  behind.  The  jinricksha  man  wears 
little  except  a  loin  cloth  and  a  very  broad  straw  hat. 
The  fare  is  most  exorbitant,  being  no  less  than  ten 
sens  (cents),  per  hour!  If  you  want  to  take  a  trip  into 
the  country,  jump  into  &  jinricksha,  and  go  where  you 
like,  the  coolie  jogs  untiredly  along.  Put  up  where 
you  like  for  the  night,  the  coolie  will  curl  himself  up 
in  his  jinricksha  and  go  to  sleep.  Start  for  town  next 
day  when  you  like,  and  the  coolie  will  take  you  back 
and  be  well  satisfied  if  you  pay  him  one  dollar  and  a 
half. 

The  Japanese  government  has  under  its  control  a 
railroad  and  telegraph  line  to  Yeddo,  sixteen  miles  up 
the  island.  The  train  runs  the  distance  in  about  an 
hour,  and  a  telegram  does  not  take  much  longer  to 
reach  its  destination!  First,  it  has  to  be  written  in  the 
language  of  the  sender,  then  translated  into  Japanese, 
aud  then  translated  back  into  the  original  language  at 
its  point  of  destination.  I  took  the  train  for  Yeddo, 


A    CALIPOBNIA    BOY    ABROAD.  233 

now  called  Tokio,  the  largest  city  in  the  Mikado's  do 
minions.  Alighting  at  the  spacious  depot,  I  was 
met  by  Mr.  Wilson,  brother  of  Mr.  Wilson,  the 
the  principal  of  the  Lincoln  Grammar  School  in 
San  Francisco.  He  led  us  through  the  suburbs, 
Hongo,  Kaga  and  Yashika,  the  last  being  the  place 
which  the  foreign  residents  most  delight  to  honor. 
There  are  enough  Americans  and  English  here  to  form 
a  distinct  society.  Mr.  Wilson  kindly  placed  himself 
and  "trap"  at  our  disposal,  and  during  the  afternoon 
we  visited  many  places  of  interest.  One  spot  but  a 
mile  or  two  from  Yeddo,  was  at  once  strange  and  grand 
in  appearance.  It  was  a  huge  court-yard,  to  which, 
whenever  a  man  in  authority  dies,  a  statue  is  brought 
and  erected.  As  every  statue  is  precisely  like  its  neigh 
bor,  and  the  number  of  the  deceased  mounts  well  up 
into  the  thousands,  the  effect  of  this  countless  army  of 
uniform  figures  was,  it  may  be  imagined,  indeed  most 
weird  and  telling.  After  a  visit  to  the  famous  mam 
moth  statue  of  Buddha,  we  proceeded  to  the  Osahasu, 
or  general  fair.  Here  is  a  very  celebrated  temple,  the 
road  to  which  is  lined  with  stores.  In  the  temple  were 
idols  of  every  size  and  every  description  of  ugliness 
under  heaven.  To  all  of  them  priests  were  praying, 
each  priest  having  his  particular  idol,  each  idol  being 
within  a  particular  inclosure,  and  each  inclosure  having 
attached  to  it  a  large  box  for  the  reception  of  offerings. 
Pennies  and  sens  were  rattling  into  these  boxes,  the 
givers  accompanying  each  donation  with  a  sharp  clap 
ping  of  the  hands,  at  which  signal  the  priest  would  offer 
up  a  new  prayer  and  some  poor  soul  would  be  satisfied. 
In  the  center  of  the  temple  was  a  wooden  idol,  which 
looked  quite  as  much  like  a  half-burnt  stump  of  an  old 
tree  as  anything  I  could  think  of.  Not  a  feature,  not 


234:  A    CALIFORNIA    BOY    ABROAD. 

even  a  limb  was  recognizable,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
I  found  out  the  reason.  As  we  were  looking  at  this 
block-god  an  old  woman  drew  near,  rubbed  its  stomach 
and  then  her  own.  Next  a  man  with  a  sore  leg,  who 
rubbed  the  idol's  right  leg  and  then  his  own.  It  was 
an  idol  of  aches  and  sores!  I  had  a  headache  at  the 
time,  and  Mr.  Wilson  suggested  that  I  try  the  idol's 
efficacy  by  the  virtue  of  rubbing,  but  when  I  saw  the 
collection  of  human  ills  which  were  rubbed  into  the 
idol,  I  remembered  all  I  had  heard  of  contagion,  and 
left  the  ugly  thing  alone. 

In  an  hour  or  two  thereafter,  our  time,  according  to 
schedule,  having  expired,  I  was  aboard  the  "  Gaelic," 
steaming  out  of  Yeddo  bay,  bound  for  Hongkong. 

Although  Hongkong  is  thought  by  many  to  be  an  in 
tegral  part  of  the  Chinese  empire,  it  is  really  one  of  the 
numerous  outlying  portions  of  the  British  possessions. 
The  names  of  its  principal  streets,  its  local  government 
and  a  large  part  of  its  inhabitants  are  English.  The 
aspect  of  Hongkong  is  singularly  beautiful.  Built  on 
the  steep  side  of  the  mountain  known  as  Victoria  Peak, 
the  whole  place  is  laid  out  in  terraces,  the  handsome 
houses  in  their  clusters  of  trees  and  gardens  of  bright 
flowers  looking  like  so  many  parterres  in  one  large 
pleasure  ground. 

As  at  Yokohama,  so  at  Hongkong,  we  anchored  some 
quarter  of  a  mile  off  the  town  and  took  a  sampan  to  get 
on  shore.  The  streets  are  splendidly  kept,  and,  with 
the  profusion  of  trees  look  like  a  carriage-drive  through 
a  forest.  Further  up  the  hill  lies  the  park,  with  a 
stream  of  water  from  the  Peak  running  through  it,  and 
winding  walks  traversing  it  like  a  labyrinth.  The 
English  portion  of  the  city  is  quite  distinct  from  the 
Chinese,  and  its  principal  street,  Queen's  road,  is  a 


A    CALIFORNIA    BOY    ABROAD.  235 

broad  thoroughfare,  flanked  on  each  side  by  imposing 
public  buildings.  In  the  Chinese  quarter,  however,  as 
in  that  of  San  Francisco,  cleanliness  is  the  exception. 
The  houses  are  generally  large,  but  crammed  full  of 
people,  like  bees  in  a  hive.  But,  though  the  native  and 
English  quarters  are  separate,  many  of  the  wealthier 
and  English-speaking  Chinese  merchants  have  their 
stores  on  Queen's  road. 

Of  course,  everybody  who  visits  Hongkong  makes 
the  ascent  of  Yictoria  peak.  So  one  afternoon  at  half 
past  three,  taking  three  sedan-chairs  and  ten  coolies, 
we  started  out.  The  distance  by  road  is  two  miles  and 
a  half,  and  the  sheer  Light  one  thousand  seven  hundred 
feet.  Agile  and  sure  footed  as  the  chair  bearers  are, 
they  could  only  take  us  about  half  way,  when  we  had  to 
get  out  and  climb  the  rest  of  the  distance.  At  the 
summit  is  an  arrangement  of  flag  posts  on  which  are 
hoisted  the  signals  of  incoming  ships.  Near  it  is  a 
look-out  house  fitted  with  telescopes,  and  as  soon  as 
a  speck  is  sighted,  up  goes  the  union  jack;  then,  as  the 
•vessel  nears,  her  nationality  and  then  her  rig,  and  so  on, 
are  signaled.  Descending  by  the  Pok-Ful-um  road,  we 
made  the  round  trip  of  six  miles  and  a  half  in  three 
Lours. 

The  Chinese  theaters  of  Hongkong  have  so  strong  a 
family  likeness  to  those  in  San  Francisco  that  I  need 
say  nothing  about  them,  except  that  the  evening  we 
spent  at  one  of  these  places  the  following  little  bit  of 
graceful  acrobatics  was  indulged  in.  A  man  clambered 
to  the  top  of  a  heap  of  tables  that  rose  fully  fifteen  feet 
in  the  air,  turned  a.  somersault,  and  just  as  he  was  near- 
ing  the  stage  below,  another  man  rushed  forward  and 
kicked  the  falling  man  in  the  stomach  with  such  force 
as  not  only  to  send  the  tumbler  up  in  the  air  again,  but 


236  A     CALIFOKNIA    BOY    ABROAD. 

to  land  the  kicker  himself  flat  on  his  back.  After  which, 
both  got  up,  jumped  around  a  little,  smiled,  and  made 
their  exits. 

The  day  after  ascending  Victoria  Peak,  we  made  a 
trip  to  Canton,  which  lies  on  the  Canton  river,  ninety- 
six  miles  from  Hongkong.  Steamers  ply  between  the 
two  places  every  day.  The  charge  from  Hongkong  to 
Canton  used  to  be  six  dollars  for  Europeans  and  one 
dollar  for  Chinese;  now  it  is,  Europeans  one  dollar  and 
Chinese  ten  cents. 

On  leaving  Hongkong,  we  slipped  through  the  Cap- 
sing-Moon  pass  into  the  Canton  river,  and  in  doing  so, 
crossed  the  water-mark  which  divides  the  deep  yellow 
of  the  river  from  the  green  of  the  bay,  as  clearly  and 
sharply  as  though  drawn  with  a  rule.  The  first  place 
of  importance  pointed  out  to  us  was  Bacca  Tigres,  for 
hundreds  of  years  considered  an  impregnable  point  by 
the  Chinese,  until  the  English,  aided  by  the  Americans, 
knocked  the  forts  to  pieces,  dismantled  every  gun  and 
razed  every  brick.  The  cannon  are  still  to  be  seen  ly 
ing  in  shallow  water.  No  wonder  the  Chinese  govern 
ment  demurred  against  being  compelled  by  the  English 
to  leave  the  ruins  as  they  are,  for  the  river  here  nar 
rows  to  one  eighth  of  a  mile  and  there  is  an  island  in 
the  middle  of  the  stream.  If  this  island  were  properly 
fortified,  the  access  to  Canton  by  river  might  easily  be 
prevented. 

Confucius,  a  name  given  to  the  burying-place  of  the 
gods,  is  the  next  point  of  interest.  The  cunning  priests 
have  chosen  the  river  as  the  place  in  which  to  hide  the 
remains  of  their  deities.  Instead  of  grave-stones,  the 
resting-places  of  these  myths  are  marked  by  buoys. 
Just  before  reaching  Canton,  the  boat  stops  at  Wham- 
poa,  formerly  one  of  the  greatest  trading-posts  in  China; 


A    CALIFORNIA    BOY    ABROAD.  237 

now  it  is  half-deserted  and  altogether  in  ruins.  But 
one  ship  was  there  at  the  time  of  our  visit.  Canton,  at 
a  little  distance,  looks  like  a  city  of  boats,  and  indeed 
half  Canton  lives  in  and  on  the  water.  Thousands  of 
sampans  lie  away  up  the  river  as  tightly  and  evenly 
packed  as  sardines.  The  houses  all  along  the  water 
front  seem  to  merge  into  the  boats,  and  the  whole  city 
lies  flat,  unbroken  by  a  single  tower.  Anything  bleaker 
and  more  monotonous  it  would  be  impossible  to  im 
agine. 

Saturday  the  rain  was  too  heavy  to  permit  of  our 
leaving  the  steamer,  but  on  Sunday  we  were  trotted 
through  the  city,  and  I  have  a  recollection  of  jumping 
from  the  sedan-chairs  into  puddles;  of  seeing  men 
grinding  grain  in  a  thing  like  a  cider-press;  of  young 
boys  weaving  the  most  delicate  silks;  of  five  hundred 
genii  who  sit  forever  on  pedestals  staring  at  one  an 
other,  all  with  bright  yellow  faces;  of  dismal  chanting 
by  the  priests ;  of  a  chamber  of  horrors,  where  the  tor 
tures  of  the  damned  are  represented  by  everything  that 
is  ghastly;  of  a  glass  factory,  where  a  smart  Chinaman 
blew  a  ball  of  three  inches  in  diameter  into  a  vase  six 
feet  high  and  four  feet  wide;  and  of  getting  back  to  the 
steamer  drenched  and  tired.  Then  came  an  easy  run 
down  the  river,  with  a  single  ray  of  sunlight  lighting 
the  crest  of  Victoria  peak,  and  falling  aslant  Hongkong. 


238  THE    LIBEKTT    OF    THE    PBESS. 


THE  LIBEETY  OF  THE  PEESS. 

BY  PHILIP  A.  ROACH. 

THE  liberty  of  the  Press  is  formidable  to  tyrants  only. 
The  sublime  achievements  of  the  Patriot  Fathers  in 
securing  our  national  independence  would  have  been  of 
trifling  value,  had  they  not  also  provided  the  agency  to 
perpetuate  it.  The  struggle  in  1776  was  against  kingly 
aggressions,  and  the  then  comparative  liberty  of  publi 
cation  enabled  the  colonists  to  organize  and  defy  arbi 
trary  power.  The  contest  of  the  near  future  will  be 
against  corporate  exaction,  and  in  that  struggle,  with 
wealth  on  one  side,  popular  rights  can  only  be  main 
tained  by  an  able,  honest  and  fearless  Press.  Nations 
now  enjoying  civil  and  religious  freedom,  obtained  that 
boon  after  a  severe  struggle  in  which  writers,  defying 
despotic  power,  exposed  the  tyranny  and  corruption  of 
Courts,  and  awakened  the  better  sentiments  of  rulers  to 
redress  grievances.  The  language  of  truth  is  always 
powerful,  and  it  finds  its  way,  when  boldly  spoken,  even 
to  the  hearts  of  despots.  Its  voice  cannot  be  stifled  by 
censorship  nor  imprisonment.  The  type  has  perpetual 
existence;  those  impersonal  messengers  of  thought  dread 
neither  bastiles  nor  bullets. 

The  English  monarchy  has  been  changed  from  a  per 
sonal  government  to  a  representative  one.  The  contest 
between  the  Crown  and  Commons  was  fiercely  fought 
for  several  centuries.  The  first  political  publications 
were  in  pamphlet  form,  which  were  succeeded,  later  on 
in  the  struggle  between  the  King  and  Parliament,  by 
semi-weekly  journals.  With  the  restoration  of  the 
"Merry  Monarch"  came  a  suppression  of  freedom  of 
publication,  and  under  the  reign  of  the  Georges,  writers 


THE    LIBEBTY     OF    THE     PRESS.  239 

who  durst  attack  the  government  were  fined,  pilloried, 
imprisoned  and  branded.  But  persecution  availed  not. 
Journalism  panoplied  itself  in  impenetrable  armor.  It 
fearlessly  exposed  the  corruption  of  the  government  and 
the  venality  of  Ministers.  "  Junius,"  behind  a  shield  as 
protective  as  that  of  Minerva,  launched  thunderbolts  of 
invective  upon  his  adversaries.  All  means  to  find  him 
out  proved  abortive.  His  publisher,  "Woodfall,  was 
faithful,  and  the  superiority  of  impersonal  journalism 
was  proven  in  a  manner  that  cannot  be  shaken  by  any 
series  of  circumstances  which  have  transpired  in  recent 
times.  The  minions  of  the  House  of  Hanover  trembled 
with  impotent  rage  at  the  fulminations  of  the  iinknown 
and  in  tangible  "Junius,"  since  whose  time  the  influence 
of  journalism  has  steadily  increased.  The  leading 
minds  of  the  British  Empire  have  found  the  Press  a 
more  potent  agency  to  influence  public  opinion  than 
oratory.  Statesmen,  prime  ministers  and  men  of  sci 
ence,  do  not  now,  as  formerly,  address  public  meetings, 
or  if  they  do,  it  is  in  order  to  have  their  utterances  re 
produced  and  given  to  multitudes  that  no  hall  would 
accommodate,  and  which  even  the  voice  of  Stentor  would 
fail  to  reach.  Many  social  problems  are  being  solved 
by  persons  who  have  not  the  lung-power  to  make  them 
selves  heard  from  the  platform,  yet  millions  read  their 
thoughts,  ponder  them,  and  become  active  agents,  giv 
ing  them  publicity  in  the  circle  of  influence  in  which 
they  move. 

The  yearnings  of  nations  for  liberty  of  speech  and 
thought  is  evidenced  by  the  uprisings  and  revolutions 
which  have  taken  place  among  the  races  of  the  Old  and 
New  "World.  The  efforts  of  man  to  obtain  self-govern 
ment,  or  even  a  reasonable  degree  of  personal  liberty, 
commences  with  the  thoughtful  writer.  The  masses 


240  THE    LIBERTY     OF    THE     PRESS. 

surrounding  liim  must  be  constantly  instructed  in  their 
rights  and  duties,  and  the  daily  newspaper,  and  not  the 
public  meeting,  gives  the  cheapest,  easiest  and  best  test 
for  proving  that  the  pen,  as  a  teacher  of  political  truths, 
is  mightier  than  the  tongue.  I  wish  to  make  no  dis 
paraging  comparison  as  to  the  merits  of  the  freedom 
of  Speech  and  the  liberty  of  the  Press.  They  are 
the  twin-children  of  intelligence;  they  are  the  giant- 
workers  who  have  only  commenced  their  labors  in  de 
veloping  the  arts  and  sciences;  in  teaching  mankind 
their  rights,  and  in  wresting  from  Nature  a  knowledge  of 
the  grand  principles  sustaining  the  universe. 

Two  peoples  who  fought  a  century  ago,  on  the  same 
battle-fields,  have  formed  powerful  governments  based 
on  the  principles  of  popular  sovereignty,  administered 
through  the  system  of  universal  suffrage.  France  now 
enjoys  the  glorious  name  of  Commonwealth  after  three 
baptisms  of  fire  and  blood.  Revolution  went  backward 
under  the  violent  reaction  of  mouarchism,  but  the  in 
tellectual  power  of  France  could  not  be  chained.  The 
limited  freedom  allowed  to  the  Press  under  Louis 
XVIII.  and  Charles  X.,  gave  uneasiness  to  the  band  of 
absolutist  ruler*?  known  as  the  Holy  Alliance.  Poliguac 
brought  in  his  decrees  to  suppress  the  liberty  of  the 
Press,  and  the  right  of  public  meeting;  then  uprose  the 
barricades.  France  had  her  Revolution  of  July,  and 
the  lineal  heir  of  the  good  and  wise  St.  Louis  was  a 
fugitive  from  the-  throne  of  his  fathers.  The  Press  had 
not  been  free  long  enough  to  make  Republicans,  but  a 
step  in  acknowledging  the  sovereignty  of  the  people  was 
made.  Louis  Phillippe  was  crowned  King  of  the 
French,  and  was  called  the  Citizen-king,  but  suffrage 
was  extremely  limited;  less  than  two  hundred  and 
eighty  thousand,  where  there  are  now  nearly  eight  mill- 


THJE    LIBERTY     OF    THE    PRESS.  241 

ions,  exercised  the  elective  franchise.  The  efforts  of 
the  Citizen-king  were  largely  devoted  to  the  suppression 
of  the  liberty  of  the  Press  and  liberty  of  speech.  There 
was  a  constant  struggle  during  his  reign  of  eighteen 
years  between  intelligence  and  absolutism.  The  rights 
of  the  people  to  assemble  and  the  liberty  of  publication 
were  denied.  Guizot  brought  forward  the  Decrees,  and 
on  February  22,  1848,  the  Citizen-king  was  a  fugitive, 
and  France  for  the  second  time  became  a  republic  for 
a  limited  period.  Then  came  the  coup  d'etat  and  the 
establishment  of  the  second  empire,  whose  restrictive 
laws  on  the  Press  and  liberty  of  speech,  which  pre 
vented  the  honest  criticism  of  public  measures,  led  to 
the  most  terrible  disaster  which  ever  befell  a  nation. 
Sedan  and  Metz,  Alsace  and  Lorraine  would  not  now  be 
associated  in  the  minds  of  a  gallant  people  with  disaster 
and  dismemberment,  had  such  freedom  of  discussion 
been  permitted  in  France  as  is  allowed  in  Great  Britain 
and  the  United  States.  Tho  laws  on  the  Press  are  lib 
eral  now  compared  with  what  they  were  under  the 
kingly  and  imperial  Governments,  but  as  the  republic 
is  in  its  third  form  of  existence,  its  performance  can 
only  be  secured  by  making  the  Press  perfectly  free  and 
responsible. 

If  space  permitted,  I  would  say  something  about  the 
three  continental  nations  whose  literature  is  rich  in 
everything  within  the  domain  of  art,  science  and  letters; 
but  their  intellectual  power  is  limited  in  two  directions 
now  in  detriment  to  national  interests  and  national 
safety.  Intelligence,  acted  upon  by  the  great  motors  of 
modern  civilization,  will  burst  all  barriers  if  denied  ex 
pansion,  and  produce  social  revolution.  The  great  em 
pires,  by  oppressive  enactments,  may  for  a  time  repress 
freedom  of  thought,  but  that  element  of  human  intelli- 
16 


242  THE    LIBERTY    OF    THE    PRESS. 

gence  will  not  long  remain  within  the  limited  bound 
aries  within  which  arbitrary  power  would  confine  it. 
Like  water  within  the  hollow  sphere,  congealed  by  arti 
ficial  agencies,  in  a  genial  atmosphere  it  will  expand 
and  burst  its  iron  tomb;  and  so  will  thought,  although 
perpetual  banishment  to  Siberia's  solitudes  were,  the 
punishment  for  its  free  expression. 

The  Federal  Constitution,  adopted  by  the  requisite 
number  of  States,  went  into  operation  in  1789.  But 
that  instrument  did  not  contain  the  provision  which  has 
secured  us  liberty  of  conscience,  freedom  of  speech  and 
of  the  press,  and  the  right  of  public  meeting.  At  one 
time  it  was  feared  the  Constitution  would  not  be  rati 
fied  by  the  requisite  number  of  States,  and  journalism 
was  resorted  to  to  insure  a  favorable  result.  The  mas 
ter-minds  of  the  country  established  a  newspaper  to 
effect  their  purpose.  It  was  called  the  "Federalist/' 
Its  articles  were  anonymous,  and  so  faithfully  was  the 
secret  kept,  that  some  of  the  able  papers  which  ap 
peared  in  its  columns  are  attributed  to  various  parties; 
but  enough  is  known  to  state  beyond  all  doubt  that 
Hamilton,  Jay  and  Madison  were  the  authors.  Theirs 
was  a  precious  example,  which  the  experience  of  time 
has  approved.  To  a  free  people,  impersonality  in  jour 
nalism  is  as  necessary  as  the  secresy  of  the  ballot. 

The  most  glorious  article  in  our  Constitution  was  an 
amendment  which,  with  others,  was  ratified  December 
15,  1791.  It  reads  as  follows:  "Congress  shall  make 
no  law  respecting  an  establishment  of  religion,  or  pro 
hibiting  the  free  exercise  thereof,  or  of  abridging  the 
freedom  of  speech,  or  of  the  press,  or  of  the  right  of  the 
people  peacefully  to  assemble  and  petition  Congress 
for  a  redress  of  grievances."  Every  State  of  the  Union 
has  an  article  of  similar  import  in  its  Constitution,  and 


THE    LIBEBTY    OF    THE    PRESS.  243 

these  four  fundamental  principles  above  recited  appear 
to  be  firmly  guarded  against  hostile  attack.  As  the 
mission  of  an  honest  press  is  to  expose  corruption, 
thwart  the  plots  of  schemers,  and  prove  itself  the  advo 
cate  of  popular  rights,  at  various  times  the  Federal 
and  State  governments,  through  pernicious  influences, 
have  attempted  to  abridge  its  liberty  and  destroy  its 
usefulness,  and  to  that  end  vexatious  laws  have  been 
enacted  to  limit  its  utterances;  but  the  honest  journal 
ist,  if  he  have  truth  on  his  side,  fears  not  such  enact 
ments,  and  an  enlightened  public  opinion  has  main 
tained  the  freedom  of  the  press  in  every  State  of  the 
Union.  That  liberty  rightfully  exercised — the  publica 
tion  of  truth,  with  good  motives  and  for  justifiable  ends, 
is  our  best  security  against  the  dangers  of  social  revol 
ution. 

At  the  present  time  there  are  elements  of  unrest  af 
fecting  the  body  politic;  special  privileges  to  corpora 
tions  have  given  their  managers  immense  power  and 
prodigious  wealth.  The  spirit  of  monopoly  has  spread 
its  grasp  over  many  things  that  are  the  heritage  of  the 
people.  The  forest,  the  mine,  the  water-course,  and 
public  land  have  been  appropriated,  not  for  use,  but 
for  extortion  and  monopolization.  Wealth,  under  our 
present  system,  is  rapidly  becoming  concentrated,  and 
colossal  fortunes  are  accumulating,  while  the  masses 
are  becoming  poorer  and  poorer.  These  circumstances 
have  invited  the  press  to  the  discussion  of  two  prob 
lems,  and  its  efforts  are  proving  that  there  should  not 
be  antagonism  between  the  two  factors  of  material  pros 
perity.  Capital  and  labor  have  a  common  foe;  each  has 
the  same  enemy.  Both  alike  dread  the  monopolization 
of  wealth.  Labor  complains  of  unjust  taxation;  capi 
tal,  that  its  activities  are  burdened  from  the  same  cause; 


24:4       THE  LIBERTY  OF  THE  PKESS. 

•while  the  enormous  wealth  of  the  millionaires  is  invited 
to  assume  a  passive  condition  by  investment  in  non- 
taxable  securities.  The  danger  is  that  the  evils  will 
accumulate  if  not  arrested  by  proper  measures.  The 
redress  of  grievances  which  are  felt  in  all  sections  of 
the  Union  must  come  from  wise  legislation,  and  this 
will  result  from  action  of  the  freedom  of  speech  and  the 
freedom  of  the  press.  Just  taxation,  the  banishment  of 
corrupt  influences  from  legislative  bodies,  the  speedy 
punishment  of  crime,  and  the  impartial  administration 
of  justice,  are  the  ground-work  on  which  a  Letter  social 
system  can  be  erected. 

In  the  interests  of  public  morality,  the  unity  of  the 
family  should  be  preserved.  The  law  of  inheritance 
should  prevent  an  honest  and  industrious  son  from  be- 
in  disingherited  to  gratify  a  father's  caprice  or  pride,  to 
give  the  bulk  of  his  fortune  to  the  eldest  son  to  perpet 
uate  his  name;  the  daughter  should  not  be  deprived  of 
a  reasonable  portion  of  her  father's  wealth  because  she 
marries  an  honest  clerk,  an  honest  mechanic,  or  even  a 
poor  journalist  of  moral  worth.  Nor  should  wealth  be 
allowed  to  perpetuate  its  tyranny  beyond  the  grave,  by 
cutting  off  the  widow  with  a  scant  pittance  in  the  event 
of  her  re-marrying.  If  the  law  made  good  conduct  on 
the  part  of  immediate  heirs  an  element  in  the  pro  rata 
they  should  receive,  a  great  good  would  be  obtained  in 
preventing  the  deterioration  of  wealthy  families,  and 
courts  would  not  be  called  upon  to  expose  to  public 
gaze  the  skeleton  in  the  family  closet,  and  society  would 
not  be  scandalized. 

It  may  be  said  that  the  power  of  the  press  in  the  mat 
ters  referred  to  will  prove  a  broken  reed.  That  im 
mense  wealth  can  subsidize  a  newspaper;  that  it  can 
establish  new  ones,  and  by  lavish  expenditures  drive  its 


THE    LIBERTY     OF    THE    PKESS.  245. 

honest  rivals  from  the  field.  The  supposition  is  incor 
rect.  The  influence  of  a  journal  depends  upon  the  num 
ber  of  its  readers;  that  number  will  be  in  proportion  to 
its  honest  advocacy  of  popular  rights.  A  fierce  contest 
may  rage  between  the  organs  of  the  millionaires  and  the 
organs  of  the  million,  but  the  latter  will  triumph,  be 
cause  the  intelligence  of  the  masses  will  discern  their 
true  interests,  and  they  possess  the  voting  power  to 
redress  their  wrongs. 

It  is  true  that  we  have  grave  social  questions  disturb 
ing  the  public  mind,  but  questions  equally  (is  great 
have  been  settled  in  another  land  where  the  press  was 
free  to  discuss  them.  What  greater  question  was  ever 
settled  against  wealth,  power  and  privilege,  by  free  dis 
cussion,  than  abolishing  the  Corn  Law  of  Great  Britain? 
Than  the  granting  of  Catholic  emancipation  to  Ireland? 
Than  the  extension  of  the  electoral  franchise  in  Eng 
land  ?  The  American  people  have  had  too  severe  a  les 
son  taught  them  by  the  late  Civil  War  to  wish  to  redress 
their  wrongs  by  force  of  arms.  Four  years  of  war  made 
our  republic  one  vast  camp;  millions  of  men  were  en 
gaged  in  fratricidal  strife;  billions  of  treasure  have 
been  wasted,  and  we  shall  transmit  to  coming  genera 
tions  a  heavy  burden  upon  their  labor.  The  whole 
scheme  of  our  government  is  based  upon  the  intelli 
gence  of  the  people.  The  federal  and  state  constitutions 
provide  the  most  solemn  safeguards  for  popular  rights, 
and  have  wisely  determined  that  the  liberty  of  the  press 
shall  never  be  abridged.  With  such  guarantees  secur- 
iug  its  freedom,  the  latter  would  prove  ungrateful  did 
it  not  advocate  the  interests  of  the  toiling  millions  who 
are  its  moral  and  pecuniary  supporters.  Such  will  be 
its  course  on  all  great  questions.  Its  motto  is  and  will 
be,  "The  greatest  good  to  the  greatest  number. " 


246  CITY    AND    COUNTRY    LIFE. 


CITY  AND  COUNTKY  LIFE  COMPAEED. 

Br  ZACH.  MONTGOMERY. 

IT  is  an  indisputable  fact,  the  world  over,  that  in 
bodily  stature,  muscular  development  and  capacity  for 
endurance,  people  reared  in  cities  are,  as  a  rule,  inferior 
to  those  reared  in  the  country;  nor  does  it  require  either 
a  profound  philosopher  or  a  very  learned  physician  to  tell 
the  reason  why.  All  will  admit  that  among  the  essen 
tials  to  health  are  pure  air,  good  water,  wholesome  food, 
regular  habits,  and  proper  exercise.  But  people  who 
live  in  cities  must,  at  best,  be  content  with  a  second 
hand  atmosphere,  and  may  even  consider  themselves 
lucky  if  occasionally  permitted  to  inhale  a  solitary 
breath  which  has  not  already,  in  part  at  least,  been 
ground  through  the  mills  of  a  thousand  lungs.  Added 
to  this  are  the  smoke  and  dust  which  unceasingly 
ascend  from  work-shops,  foundries  and  factories,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  nauseous  gases  and  unwholesome 
effluvia,  with  which  numberless  laundries,  livery  stables, 
cess-pools  and  filthy  sewers  incessantly  fill  the  air.  It  is 
seldom  one  finds  in  the  city  pure  water,  or  pure  milk, 
or  that  either  fruits  or  garden  vegetables  can  be 
obtained  at  the  precise  stage  of  maturity  which 
renders  them  most  delicious  or  most  conducive  to 
health.  Nor  can  it  be  denied  that  city  people,  as  a 
rule,  sadly  neglect  those  regular  habits  in  eating, 
sleeping  and  exercise,  which  are  indispensably  neces 
sary  to  give  tone,  vigor  and  proper  development  to  the 
physical  man. 

Passing  from  the  inferior  to  the  superior  part  of  man, 
it  requires  but  a  moment's  reflection  to  perceive  that 
cities  are  not  more  favorable  to  mental  and  moral  health 


CITY    AND     COUNTRY    LIFE.  247 

and  development,  than  to  the  health,  growth  and  strength 
of  the  body.  Most  of  the  world's  great  men  have  come 
either'  from  the  country  or  country  villages.  For  ex 
amples:  Cinciunatus,  the  noblest  of  all  the  Romans, 
was  reared  in  the  country  and  led  the  life  of  a  plowman; 
Alexander  the  Great  was  a  native  of  the  little  town  of 
Pella,  a  village  so  small  that,  but  for  the  fact  of  its 
having  been  the  birth-place  of  the  world's  conqueror, 
the  world  would  never  have  known  of  its  existence; 
Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  the  son  of  a  farmer;  Shakespeare 
was  born  in  a  small  country  village;  George  Washing 
ton  was  born,  reared  and  died  in  the  country;  Patrick 
Henry,  Thomas  Jefferson  and  Daniel  Webster  were  all 
from  the  country;  so  was  Philpot  Curran  and  so  was 
Daniel  O'Connell.  When  the  three  adorable  Persons 
of  the  Blessed  Trinity  sat  in  counsel  for  the  purpose  of 
choosing  from  among  all  the  daughters  of  Eve,  a  virgin 
sufficiently  pure  and  spotless  to  become  the  Mother  of 
the  Messiah,  they  found  her  not  in  any  of  the  great  cities 
of  the  earth,  but  in  an  humble  little  village  of  Judea. 
Hence  to  Nazareth  belongs  the  honor  of  having  cradled 
the  world's  Redeemer,  and  to  Jerusalem  the  crime  of 
his  crucifixion.  The  Almighty's  choicest  bolts  of 
vengeance  have  generally  fallen  on  the  great,  populous 
and  proud  cities  of  the  world.  Thus,  it  was  upon 
Sodom  and  Gomorrah  that  fire  and  brimstone  rained 
down  from  heaven  while  the  neighboring  village  of 
Segor,  the  very  name  of  which  imports  its  insignificance, 
was  spared.  It  was  against  such  proud  and  populous 
cities  as  Nineveh  and  Tyre,  and  Babylon  and  Jerusalem 
that  the  Almighty,  by  the  tongue  of  prophecy,  hurled 
his  most  terrible  threats  and  most  terribly  did  he 
execute  them.  The  prophet  Tobias,  when  foretelling 


248  CITY    AND     COUNTRY    LIFE. 

the  downfall  of  Nineveh,  says:  "The  destruction  of 
Nineveh  is  at  hand,  for  I  see  that  its  iniquity  will  bring 
it  to  destruction." 

Of  Babylon,  Isaias  exclaimed,  "And  that  Babylon, 
glorious  among  kingdoms,  the  famous  pride  of  the 
Chaldeans,  shall  be  even  as  the  Lord  destroyed  Sodom 
and  Gomorrah.  It  shall  no  more  be  inhabited  forever, 
and  ifc  shall  not  be  founded  unto  generation  and  genera 
tion;  neither  shall  the  Arabian  pitch  his  tent  there,  nor 
shall  shepherds  rest  there.  But  wild  beasts  shall  rest 
there,  and  their  houses  shall  be  filled  with  serpents, 
and  ostriches  shall  dwell  there,  and  the  hairy  ones  shall 
dance  there,  and  owls  shall  answer  one  another  in  the 
houses  thereof."  All  history  and  the  unanimous  voice 
of  modern  tourists  bear  witness  to  the  literal  fulfillment 
of  these  terrible  predictions.  But,  it  may  be  asked, 
why  this  unparalleled  wickedness  which  so  often  curses 
the  great  cities  of  the  earth?  The  answer  is  easy.  It 
is  here  that  the  very  worst  elements  of  society,  the 
lewd,  debauched  and  abandoned  of  all  ages  and  of  both 
sexes,  mostly  congregate;  it  is  here  that  vice  presents 
herself  in  every  conceivable  form,  in  nearly  all  places 
and  at  all  hours,  both  day  and  night;  it  is  here  she  is 
forever  fanning  into  a  flame  the  very  worst  passions  of  the 
human  heart.  Now  she  comes  in  the  shape  of  the  tempting 
glass,  dragging  her  victim  down  into  the  gutter,  or  sending 
him  home  to  play  the  fiend  and  sow  the  seeds  of  crime 
and  misery  in  the  bosom  of  his  family.  Now  you  find 
her  in  the  shape  of  some  God-forbidden  mammoth 
speculation,  where,  by  means  of  deceit,  lying  and  fraud, 
an  entire  community  is  to  be  swindled  and  numberless 
families  reduced  from  opulence  to  penury  and  want. 
Sometimes  you  see  her  staggering  into  a  police  court, 


CITY    AND     COUNTRY    LIFE.  249 

with  face  bloated,  eyes  bunged,  hair  disheveled  and 
garments  torn,  ragged  and  reeking  with  filth;  then  again, 
robing  herself  in  gaudy  apparel  of  silks,  satins  and 
gilded  drapery,  she  moves  along  the  streets  with  all  the 
majesty,  ease,  grace  and  beauty  of  a  queen.  Then 
again  she  plays  the  role  of  an  infuriated  rnob,  rushing 
frantically  through  the  city,  bearing  in  one  hand  the 
incendiary  torch,  while  with  the  other  she  brandishes 
the  bloody  dagger  of  the  assassin.  Sometimes,  "steal 
ing  the  livery  of  heaven  to  serve  the  devil  in,"  she 
mounts  the  pulpit  in  the  shape  of  some  hypocritical 
preacher,  who,  with  a  soul  befouled  with  impurity  and 
a  tongue  blistering  with  perjury,  desecrates  and  defames 
all  that  is  most  holy  in  heaven  or  on  earth,  by  daring  to 
discourse  of  God  and  eternity,  of  law,  morality  and 
religion. 

Sometimes  she  makes  herself  heard  in  the  voice  of 
sweet  music,  luring  her  victims  now  up  to  the  theater; 
now  down  into  the  rum-cellar,  and  now  into  the  ball 
room,  where  gentlemen  and  debauchees,  gentle  maids 
and  disguised  courtesans,  meet  on  common  ground, 
bow,  smile,  clasp  hands,  embrace,  and  twirl  round  and 
round  in  the  giddy  mazes  of  the  lecherous  waltz.  Al 
most  every  occupation  in  city  life  is  beset  with  some 
peculiarly  powerful  temptation.  The  merchant,  in 
order  to  increase  his  sales,  is  tempted  to  deceive  his 
customers  as  to  the  quality  and  value  of  his  goods. 
Being  often  brought  into  competition  with  dishonest 
and  lying  competitors,  he  easily  persuades  himself  that 
falsehood  and  deception  are  a  necessary  part  of  his 
business.  So  of  the  mechanic.  Having  to  compete 
with  unscrupulous  brother  mechanics,  he  is  often  com 
pelled  to  either  go  without  employment,  or  else  accept 


250  CITY    AND     COUNTRY    LIFE. 

contracts  at  such  rates  as  lea~ve  him  no  alternative  but 
either  to  swindle  his  employers  or  ruin  himself. 

What  is  true  of  merchants  and  mechanics  is  also 
more  or  less  true  of  professional  men,  and  those  en 
gaged  in  other  walks  of  life.  If,  then,  it  be  true,  as  the 
poet  says,  that 

Yice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mien, 
That  to  be  hated,  needs  but  to  be  seen; 
Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face, 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace. 

We  may  readily  imagine  how  natural  it  is  for  a  child 
born  and  bred  in  the  midst  of  a  great  city  to  embrace 
the  vices  of  that  city. 

In  cities,  popular  ideas  of  right  and  wrong,  virtue  and 
vice,  beauty  and  deformity,  are  too  often  formed,  not 
according  to  nature's  divine  standard,  but  according  to 
the  perverted  tastes  of  men  acting  and  speaking  either 
from  motives  of  interest,  passion,  or  prejudice.  With 
rare  exceptions,  we  find  but  little  independence  in  the 
great  cities  of  the  world.  The  laborer  is  afraid  to  be 
independent  lest  he  lose  his  employment;  the  trades 
man  fears  to  be  independent,  lest  he  drive  away  his 
customers;  and  the  hotel-keeper  fears  to  be  independent 
for  a  similar  reason.  Here  almost  every  man  is  ex 
pected  to  belong  to  some  particular  clique,  and  each 
must  think  with  his  clique,  speak  with  his  clique,  act 
with  his  clique  and  vote  with  his  clique,  and  unless  he 
does  all  this  he  is  kicked  overboard  as  an  unworthy 
member  of  his  clique,  and  becomes  the  outcast  and  ac 
cursed  of  all  cliques. 

But  what  a  refreshing  contrast  do  we  find  on  turning 
our  eyes  to  the  country!  Here  we  behold  the  sturdy 


CITY    AND     COUNTRY    LIFE.  251 

farmer,  far  removed  from  the  dust  and  smoke  and  filth 
and  vice  of  the  city,  breathing  heaven's  pure,  fresh  air 
as  it  comes  wafted  across  the  broad  ocean  or  sweetened 
by  the  fragrance  of  the  new-blown  flowers  of  God  Al 
mighty's  own  garden  of  the  forest.  He  drinks  the  pure, 
cold  water  as  it  comes  gushing  down  from  the  dissolv 
ing  snow,  or  sips  the  soothing  beverage  from  the  "old 
oaken  bucket,  that  iron-bound  bucket,  that  moss-cov 
ered  bucket  that  hangs  by  the  well."  Around  him  are 
his  herds  of  horses,  cows,  sheep  and  swine,  his  chickens, 
his  geese  and  his  ducks ;  his  fields  are  yellow  with  the  ripe 
grain;  his  orchards  are  laden  with  rich,  rare  and  luscious 
fruits;  his  garden  is  a  paradise  of  flowers,  and  his  home 
an  earthly  heaven.  As  he  returns  from  the  field  to  his 
frugal  meal,  or  for  his  nightly  repose,  bright,  smiling, 
cheerful,  healthy  faces  greet  him  at  the  door  and  bid 
him  a  cordial  welcome,  such  as  a  monarch  might  crave. 
The  solitude  of  the  rural  home  during  the  absence  of 
the  husband  and  father,  always  renders  his  return  a 
source  of  unspeakable  domestic  bliss  to  the  wife  and 
children,  for  whom  he  has  borne  the  heat  and  burden 
of  the  day.  His  toils  in  the  field  give  a  relish  for  food, 
which  renders  the  plainest  diet  more  delicious  than  is 
the  rarest  and  daintiest  dish  to  the  idle  epicure.  At 
night,  free  from  the  noise,  bustle,  confusion  and  mental 
anxieties  of  city  life,  the  farmer  enjoys  to  its  fullest 
measure  the  sweet  blessing  of  an  unbroken  sleep.  He 
is  neither  startled  from  his  slumbers  by  the  rattling  of 
drays  nor  by  the  oaths,  blasphemies  and  obscenities  of 
vile  men.  He  is  awakened  at  early  dawn  by  the  sweet, 
inspiring  melodies  of  a  thousand  birds,  whose  shrill, 
clear  voices  ring  out  upon  the  morning  air  in  strains  of 
thanksgiving  to  God  for  the  blessed  light  of  another 


252  CITY    AND    COUNTRY    LIFE. 

day.  Abandoned,  indeed,  must  be  the  heart  of  that  man 
whose  tongue  could  blaspheme  or  refuse  to  honor  the 
name  of  the  Most  High,  while  the  very  birds  are  thrill 
ing  the  air  with  the  notes  of  His  praise.  Every  occu 
pation  of  the  farmer  brings  him,  as  it  were,  face  to  face 
with  his  Maker,  and  teaches  him  lessons  of  truth,  justice 
and  piety.  When  he  plows  his  ground  and  sows  his 
seed,  he  relies  not  upon  the  slippery  promises  of  men, 
but  upon  God  Himself,  to  supply  the  moisture  and  to 
so  temper  the  atmosphere  as  to  sprout  the  seed  and 
mature  the  crop.  Every  flower  that  blooms,  every  blade 
of  grass  that  grows,  and  every  insect  that  crawls,  tell 
him  of  the  wisdom,  power,  goodness,  justice  and  mercy 
of  the  Almighty.  When  he  plucks  from  the  tree  the 
rich,  ripe  fruit,  as  it  hangs  in  tempting  clusters  around 
the  parent  stem,  how  sublime  the  thought  that  he  re 
ceives  this  luscious  food  direct  from  God,  no  mortal 
hand  intruding  between  the  Giver  and  the  receiver  to 
break  the  charm  which  Divinity  throws  around  the  pre 
cious  gift.  Accustomed  as  he  is  to  rely  upon  God  and 
his  own  strong  arm.  for  what  he  eats,  drinks  and  wears, 
he  dares  to  think  what  is  right,  and  to  speak  and  act  as 
he  thinks. 


TWO    GREAT    STONE-FACES.  253 


TWO  GKEAT  STONE-FACES. 

BY  "MRS.  PARTINGTON"  (BENJAMIN  P.  SHILLABER). 

THE  fame  of  "The  Great  Stone-Face,"  or  "Old  Man 
of  the  Mountain,"  in  New  Hampshire,  has  become  so 
widely  extended  that  there  is  no  need  nor  room  for  fur 
ther  description;  yet  as  another  "  Great  Stone-Face  "  is 
to  be  spoken  of  in  connection  with  this,  it  may  be  well 
enough  to  have  a  slight  sparring  with  this  before  attack 
ing  the  other.  So  I  will  square  away  at  the  old  profile, 
though  it  heed  me  no  more  than  it  has  the  attacks  of  the 
centuries  that  have  preceded. 

New  Hampshire  people,  from  a  feeling  of  local  pride, 
contend  that  it  was  the  "Old  Man  of  the  Mountain,'7 
and  not  the  Sphinx,  that  was  meant  in  the  ancient 
conundrum  that  defined  the  difference  betwixt  that  and 
Queen  Bess:  "This  was  a  wonder,  but  she  was  a  Tu 
dor."  And  it  is  a  wonder,  but,  unlike  most  other  nat 
ural  wonders,  the  first  impression  of  it  is  best.  The 
mountains,  the  lakes,  the  cataracts,  dwindle  before  our 
highly-raised  expectations,  induced  by  the  descriptions 
of  those  who  have  studied  them  and  learned  to  appre 
ciate  them,  as  we  do  after  a  time;  but  the  "  Old  Man," 
suddenly  thrusting  his  sharply-cut  profile  from  the  cliff, 
transfixes  one,  at  the  first  glance,  with  wonder  and  awe. 
The  effect  is  heightened  if  it  comes  as  a  surprise. 

I  had  tarried  with  a  friend  overnight  at  Franconia, 
which  gives  the  name  "  Frauconia  Notch  "  to  a  passage 
leading  betwixt  the  hills  from  the  west,  and  in  the  morn 
ing,  early,  we  started  in  a  carryall  to  explore  the  "  con 
tagious  ';  territory,  as  Mrs.  Partington,  of  our  party, 
termed  it.  The  morning  was  lovely,  the  scenery  grand, 
and  admiration,  like  Ixion,  was  attached  to  the  revolv- 


254:  TWO    GREAT    STONE-FACES. 

ing  wheel,  which  bronghfc  new  beauties  with  every  turn. 
The  hills  rose  around  us  in  stupendous  majesty,  and 
the  glory  of  the  scenes  we  passed  was  duly  revealed 
through  the  clear  atmosphere  of  May,  far  better  than 
the  haziness  of  the  after  summer. 

After  riding  a  few  miles,  we  entered  the  "  Notch." 
Above  us  towered  Mount  Lafayette,  in  all  particulars 
except  height  equaling,  and  in  some  even  surpassing, 
Mount  Washington  for  picturesqueness;  and  as  we 
skirted  its  base  the  leader  of  our  party  grew  suddenly 
very  loquacious  and  persistent  in  calling  attention 
to  particular  points  of  interest,  allowing  us  no  moment 
to  break  from  his  eloquent  engrossment.  The  scars  of 
avalanches,  the  track  of  land-slides,  the  thunder-riven 
cliffs,  the  dark  and  savage  ravines — with  tales  and  tra 
ditions,  pertinent,  to  curdle  the  blood  or  awaken  the 
astonishment  of  the  listener — until  we  forgot  that  there 
was  anything  to  be  seen  but  the  grim  old  mountain  be 
fore  us,  when,  driving  his  horse  up  to  a  little  wooden 
stile  by  the  wayside,  he  bade  us  look  around  and  face 
towards  the  east.  This  we  did,  and  were  favored  with 
a  rare  surprise;  for  there,  just  far  enough  away  to  ren 
der  it  fully  effective,  with  the  rising  sun  behind  it — and 
the  sun  does  not  have  much  to  do  but  rise  and  set 
among  the  mountains — on  the  front  of  a  lofty  and  abrupt 
cliff,  was  the  "  Great  Stone-Face,"  with  its  earnest,  ex 
pectant  gaze,  overlooking  the  long  valley  which 
stretched  away  into  the  distance.  We  spoke  our  whis 
pered  comments,  with  a  half  feeling  that  we  might  dis 
turb  the  august  watcher,  or  silently  looked,  almost 
dreading  lest  the  Old  Man  should  turn  his  stony  gaze 
on  us  in  rebuke  for  disturbing  his  morning  meditation. 

The  emotion  awakened  was  that  of  awe,  and  probably 
the  first  who  discovered  the  wonderful  phenomenon  did 


TWO    GREAT    STONE-FACES.  255 

not  feel  the  sublimity  of  its  presence  more  than  we  did 
at  this  unexpected  introduction.  Dr.  O.  W.  Holmes 
tried  to  imagine  the  feelings  of  the  one  who  gulped  the 
first  oyster,  in  the  doubt  of  inexperience;  but  that  was 
an  epicurean  experiment.  This  was  a  discovery  of  the 
vision,  with  what  effect  we  may  not  know.  Perhaps  the 
discoverer  was  overwhelmed,  perhaps  not;  most  likely 
not,  if  a  native  of  the  vicinage,  for  they  appreciate  more 
the  shadows  of  the  hills,  which  shorten  their  crops  of 
corn,  than  they  do  their  beauties,  which  excite  the 
poetic  world  to  frenzy.  We  greeted  the  face  with  the 
zest  of  first  discoverers,  and  but  for  the  trouble  of 
climbing  the  hill,  would  have  planted  the  discoverers' 
flag  on  the  Old  Man's  organ  of  benevolence. 

But  the  "  Great  Stone-Face,"  grand  and  massive  as  it 
is,  is  but  an  illusion,  which  a  reflected  sunbeam  may 
dispel,  revealing  an  irregular  pile  of  rocks,  bearing  no 
trace  of  human  resemblance,  and  removing  a  rod  or 
two,  either  way,  from  the  necessary  standpoint,  the 
great  wonder  becomes  but  as  "  the  baseless  fabric  of  a 
vision."  The  impression  it  makes,  however,  is  lasting, 
and  for  many  miles  the  visitor  turns,  with  vain  en 
deavor,  to  restore  the  vanished  lineaments. 

During  a  portion  of  the  winter  of  1876,  I  was  enjoy 
ing  the  hospitality  of  friends  in  San  Francisco,  to  whose 
generous  and  constant  kindness  I  was  indebted  for 
some  of  the  most  memorable  and  pleasant  experiences 
of  my  life,  when  a  party  was  made  up  for  a  visit  to 
Mount  Diablo.  We  accordingly  took  the  steamer,  en 
route,  for  Vallejo,  under  the  inspiration  and  guidance 
of  one  whose  smiling  presence  would  make  even  a  desert 
cheerful,  but  who  happily  led  us  through  scenes  of  rare 
beauty,  "swinging  round  the  circle"  comprehending 
all  betwixt  Mare  Island  and  Benicia,  where  we  embarked 


256  TWO    GREAT    STONE-FACES. 

for  Martinez,  across  Benicia  Bay,  in  a  steamer  propelled 
by  little  more  than  sewing-machine  power,  whence 
we  were  to  take  our  departure  for  the  Diabolical 
mountain. 

It  was  as  fair  a  morning  as  the  sun  ever  shone  upon 
— characteristic  of  California  in  the  spring-time  of  the 
year — when  we  embarked  on  our  expedition.  "All  the 
air  was  balm,"  luxuriant  vegetation  smiled  around  us, 
and  rare  flowers  gladdened  us  with  perfume.  Broad 
fields  of  wheat  stretched  away  in  ripening  fullness, 
graceful  oaks  at  intervals  cast  their  shadows  over  the 
sward,  song-birds  greeted  us  at  every  step,  and,  taken 
altogether,  each  scene  we  passed  seemed  one  of  those 
described  by  the  English  divine  as  so  beautiful  that  a 
change  for  Paradise  were  hardly  desirable  in  compari 
son.  Before  us,  some  twenty  miles  distant,  rose  the 
majestic  mountain  which  was  our  destination;  and  all 
our  way  thither  reminded  us  of  the  "land  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey,"  as  we  found  milk  in  plenty  at  the  stop- 
ging-places,  and  the  honey  was  an  assumed  fact. 

Changing  horses  at  a  milk  ranch,  we  entered  the 
vestibule  of  the  mountain — a  ravine,  the  beauty  and 
grandeur  of  which  it  were  impossible  to  describe.  Pre 
cipitous  rocks  rose  on  either  hand,  or  gentle  slopes 
from  retiring  hills,  profuse  of  bloorn  and  bright  with 
early  vegetation,  declined  gracefully  to  our  path.  A 
brook  of  melted  snow,  direct  from  the  caverns  of  Dia 
blo,  continually  crossed  our  way,  sparkling  in  the  sun 
like  silver.  As  Orpheus  C.  Kerr  knew  he  was  "on  the 
ascending  node  because  he  knowed  he  was  ascending," 
so  we  were  assured  as  the  little  stream  prattled  by  us, 
because  water  never  runs  up  hill,  save  where  the  sewer 
age  of  cities  is  legislated  to  run  so,  at  times,  in  defiance 
of  physical  impossibilities.  Otherwise,  the  rise  was 


TWO    GREAT    STONE-FACES.  257 

imperceptible.  Small  oaks,  buckeyes,  and  a  varied 
undergrowth  of  slirubs  fringed  our  path;  while,  high 
on  the  faces  of  the  cliffs,  were  swinging  sprays  or  bright 
patches  of  the  gorgeous  California  poppy,  flashing  in 
her  sunlight  like  burnished  gold.  "We  "whiled  the 
time  along,"  insensible  to  everything  but  that  which 
met  our  delighted  eyes,  turning  our  gaze  but  occasion 
ally  to  the  summit  which  we  soon  hoped  to  gain,  when 
our  driver,  a  transplanted  Yankee,  prolific  of  talk,  sud 
denly  stopped  his  train. 

"You've  heerd,  mebbe,"  said  he,  "  of  the  Old  Man 
of  the  Mounting  up  in  New  Hamshur?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  general  response;  and  I  thought  I 
found  more  favor  in  his  eyes  when  I  assured  him  that 
I  had  been  introduced  to  the  old  "  settler." 

"Well,"  he  continued,  "you  can  now  hev  a  chance 
to  see  which  you  like  best,  that  one  or  our  *  Old  Man.' 
See  there!" 

As  he  spoke  he  pointed  with  his  whip  back  over 
the  route  we  had  passed;  and,  following  its  direction 
with  our  eyes,  we  saw  high  up  on  the  summit  of  a 
tall,  gray  ledge,  the  gigantic  figure  of  an  old  man, 
clearly  defined  against  the  sky,  with  a  bald  forehead 
and  a  heavy,  flowing  beard,  reaching  forward  as  if 
meditating  upon  some  object  before  him.  The  back 
of  the  figure  was  symmetrically  rounded,  in  exact 
proportion  with  the  head,  and  a  protruding  fragment 
of  rock  at  the  side  bore  the  contour  of  a  human  arm 
reposing.  The  face  bore  a  tranquil  and  dignified  ex 
pression,  and  was  as  perfect  in  its  lines  as  if  it  had 
been  chiseled  by  a  Story.  The  tout  ensemble  was  so 
human  in  its  expression  that  it  seemed  as  if  some 
Titanic  philosopher  or  scribe  had,  when  Titans  were  in 
vogue,  seated  himself  there,  and  been  turned  into 


258  TWO    GREAT    STONE-FACES. 

stone.  "We  gazed  and  gazed,  and  "still  the  wonder 
grew."  As  we  pursued  our  journey,  we  turned  back 
to  look  at  it,  but  the  figure  retained  its  form  for  miles, 
and  did  not  change  materially  until  an  abrupt  turn  in 
the  road  shut  it  from  our  view. 

As  the  object  contemplated  at  the  beginning  of  this 
article  has  been  attained,  in  thus  presenting  to  my  read 
ers  a  description  of  the  two  Great  Stone-Faces  at  the 
two  extremes  of  our  country,  I  will  close  Avith  the  bare 
mention  that  the  ascent  of  the  mountain  was  success 
fully  accomplished  without  accident.  The  delight  ex 
perienced  by  all  at  the  view  from  the  summit  was 
fully  enjoyed  by  our  party,  which  soon  returned  to  a 
fresh  contemplation  of  the  Old  Man,  who  still  sat  with 
his  book  before  him,  or,  as  one  suggested,  his  writing, 
and  the  question  was  submitted  whether  he  might  not 
be  writing  a  letter  to  his  sturdy  old  brother  in  New 
Hampshire,  which  was  eagerly  waited  for,  as  was  shown 
in  the  expectant  look  of  the  latter. 


CALIFORNIA    WAIFS.  259 


CALIFOKNIA  WAIFS. 

BY  REV.  THOMAS  K.  NOBLE. 

A  WAIF,  according  to  Blackstone,  is  a  species  of  goods 
found,  whose  owner  is  not  known.  It  was  applied  orig 
inally  to  such  articles  as  a  thief,  when  pursued,  threw 
away  to  prevent  being  apprehended.  In  modern  usage, 
however,  the  word  has  a  wider  range,  and  is  applied  to 
persons  as  well  as  things.  Whoever  is  an  estray,  what 
ever  has  been  waived  or  forsaken,  is  now  designated  as 
a  waif.  Here  in  California  we  have  an  extraordinary 
number  of  boys  and  girls  whose  status  is  very  accu 
rately  described  by  this  word  waif.  In  the  literal  sense 
of  the  word  they  are  "estrays."  From  one  cause  or 
another  their  claims  for  support  and  protection  have 
been  "waived"  by  those  to  whom  they  owe  their  being. 
Under  the  old  English  law,  the  waif  was  the  property 
of  the  King.  Under  the  unwritten  law  of  American  so 
ciety,  the  waif  is  the  property  of  nobody.  Nobody  is 
responsible  for  him;  nobody  is  particularly  interested 
in  him.  And  yet  it  will  never  do  to  suffer  this  property 
to  lie  neglected.  For  of  the  wonderful  products  of 
our  wonderful  State,  the  most  wonderful  of  all  is  the 
California  waif. 

Like  Melchisedec,  the  mystic  king  of  Salem,  he  is 
"without  father,  without  mother,"  "a  native  product 
of  the  Golden  West."  Like  the  Carpenter  of  Nazareth, 
he  begins  life  in  a  stable  or  hovel,  and  as  the  years  go 
by,  while  "the  foxes  have  holes  and  the  birds  of  the  air 
have  nests,"  he  has,  very  frequently,  "not  where  to  lay 
his  head."  Like  the  gamin  of  Victor  Hugo,  "he  has 
no  shirt  to  his  back,  no  shoes  to  his  feet;  ranges  the 
streets,  fishes  in  the  sewers,  hunts  in  the  drain,  extracts 


260  CALIFORNIA    WAIFS. 

gayety  from  filth,  tempers  hallelujah  with  tura-lural, 
finds  without  searching,  knows  what  he  does  not  know; 
is  Spartan  even  to  roguery;  is  witless  even  to  wisdom, 
is  lyric  even  to  impurity;  would  squat  upon  Olympus, 
wallows  in  the  dung-heap,  and  comes  out  of  it  covered 
with  stars."  Like  the  historic  miller,  "he  cares  for 
nobody  and  nobody  cares  for  him."  And  yet  in  the 
unfolding  life  of  this  bright,  keen,  quick-witted,  auda 
cious  and  irreverent  little  waif  there  are  immense  possi 
bilities. 

The  rough  block  of  marble  can  be  fashioned  into  the 
form  of  an  angel  or  a  fiend,  and  in  this  rough  specimen 
of  California  humanity  there  is  material  for  either  a  he 
roic  man  or  a  colossal  villain.  If  he  is  to  become  the 
former,  and  not  the  latter,  he  must  have,  at  the  hands 
of  somebody,  two  things:  First,  he  must  be  cared  for; 
not  in  that  official,  meddlesome  and  fussy  way  which 
only  irritates  and  exasperates  the  boy  of  any  spirit;  on 
the  contrary,  the  care  that  is  really  to  help  him  must  be 
unobtrusive,  undemonstrative,  and  at  the  same  time 
wisely  authoritative.  It  must  environ  him  like  the 
atmosphere;  but,  like  the  atmosphere,  its  pressure 
must  be  unnoticed.  It  must  also  be  an  intelligent 
care — a  wise  oversight,  that  shall  have  regard  to 
individual  idiosyncrasies  and  personal  peculiarities; 
which  shall  make  allowance  for  infirmities  of  dispo 
sition,  take  cognizance  of  the  needs  growing  out  of 
unfavorable  and  unfriendly  surroundings,  and  have 
the  wisdom  to  discern  that  in  the  realm  of  character, 
not  less  than  in  that  of  nature,  there  is  room  for  infinite 
diversity.  It  is  not  the  will  of  our  Father  in  heaven 
that  His  children  should  all  be  run  in  one  mould  or  con 
form  to  one  rule.  And  while  this  care  must  be  authori 
tative  and  unobtrusive,  sagaciously  intelligent  and  geja- 


JAMIE  H.  BEGGS. 


CALIFOKNIA    WAIFS.  261 

uinely  sympathetic,  it  must  also  be  luminous  with  the 
sweet  grace  of  patience;  not  the  poor  caricature  which 
sometimes  passes  for  patience;  the  limp,  nerveless, 
forceless  sentiment  that  droops,  and  wilts,  and  weeps, 
and  waits,  and  is  indolently  resigned  to  the  wrong 
things  in  life  which  a  little  energy  would  set  right;  but 
the  patience  which  the  great  dramatist  has  character 
ized  as  "the  king-becoming  grace;"  the  patience  that 
has  grip,  and  pluck,  and  fortitude,  and  resolute  en 
deavor,  and  which  determines  in  calm  constancy  and 
with  indomitable  volition,  that,  come  what  may,  the 
victory  over  evil  shall  assuredly  be  won;  the  patience 
which  constrained  the  saintly  mother  of  John  Newton 
to  say  to  her  husband,  in  response  to  his  question, 
"Why  will  you  tell  that  boy  the  same  thing  twenty 
times  over?" — "Because,  my  dear,  nineteen  times  is  not 
enough." 

This,  now,  is  the  primal  need — wise,  firm,  tender, 
unobtrusive  and  indefatigably  patient  care.  It  is  not, 
however,  the  sole  need.  If  the  forces  wrapped  up  under 
his  compacted  and  closely-knit  frame  are  to  find  fitting 
expression,  there  is  something  else  to  be  done.  He 
must  be  trained  as  well  as  cared  for;  disciplined  as  well 
as  watched  over.  The  old  masters  were  wont  to  repre 
sent  Youth  as  a  figure  with  the  eyes  veiled,  the  right 
hand  bound  behind  the  back,  the  left  hand  at  liberty, 
while  Time,  following  close  at  his  heels,  was  ever  and 
anon  plucking  a  thread  out  of  the  veil.  The  reason  of 
this  representation  is  not  hard  to  find.  The  right  hand 
was  bound  behind  the  back,  while  the  left  remained  at 
liberty,  to  indicate  that,  in  a  state  of  nature,  he  would 
do  nothing  right,  but  all  things  awkwardly  or  imper 
fectly.  He  was  pictured  as  blind,  as  a  sign  and  token 
that  he  had  no  eyes  for  his  own  failings  and  defects  and 


262  CALIFORNIA    WAIFS. 

youthful  irregularities.  And  he  was  followed  by  Time, 
to  show  how,  little  by  little,  his  eyes  would  be  opened, 
and  he  would  come  to  acknowledge  his  weakness  and 
his  wants.  The  work  of  Time  in  this  representation  of 
the  ancients,  may  be  looked  upon  as  a  kind  of  object 
lesson,  of  what  is  to  be  done  for  the  California  waif. 
Little  by  little  the  threads  of  crudeness,  coarseness, 
vanity,  selfishness  and  irreverence,  inwoven  in  the  veil 
which  hides  the  real  gold  imbedded  in  his  nature,  must 
be  patiently  plucked  out.  And  when  this  is  done,  and 
his  eyes  are  unveiled,  and  he  comes  to  see  the  immature 
and  undisciplined  condition  of  all  his  faculties  and 
forces,  then  he  is  ready  for  that  added  form  of  culture 
which  the  Bible  calls  " training."  "Train  up  a  child," 
says  our  Scripture,  "in  the  way  he  should  go,  and  when 
he  is  old  he  will  not  depart  from  it."  If  it  be  asked  to 
what  ends  this  training  shall  be  directed,  and  along 
what  lines  it  must  lie,  the  answer  is,  it  must  have  re 
spect  to  health  and  vigor  of  body,  strength  and  beauty 
of  mind,  purity  and  peace  of  soul.  It  must  lie  along 
the  lines  of  industry,  honesty,  courage,  honor,  truth- 
speaking,  reverence,  and  habits  of  unselfishness  and 
mercy.  Give  to  the  California  waif  a  care  and  a  train 
ing  like  this,  and  in  the  near  future,  instead  of  "hood 
lums,"  we  shall  have  heroes,  men  who  will  make  this 
fair  land  of  sunshine  and  gold  blossom  like  the  "garden 
of  the  Lord." 


REAL    CHINA.  "     263 


EEAL  CHINA. 

BY  FREDERICK  LAW  OLMSTED. 

IN  early  life,  I  once  lived  for  four  months  on  a  vessel 
lying  at  anchor  near  the  mouth  of  the  Great  South 
river  of  China.  The  Opium  war  had  just  ended,  and 
British  frigates,  which  had  brought  desolation  and  bit 
ter  poverty  to  many  a  poor  household  in  the  vicinity, 
were  moored  near  us. 

It  was  to  be  presumed  that  the  traditional  antipathy 
of  the  people  to  foreigners  had  been  greatly  exasperated, 
and  when  we  first  began  to  go  on  shore  we  were  cau 
tioned  that  we  could  not  be  too  careful  to  avoid  offend 
ing  their  prejudices;  not  to  go  far  from  our  boats,  and 
to  keep  together  for  common  defense  in  case  of  neces 
sity.  Some  English  merchant-seamen,  it  was  said,  had 
been  roughly  handled,  and  one  who  had  strayed  away, 
having  never  reappeared,  was  supposed  to  have  been 
murdered. 

From  the  first,  however,  such  warnings  were  little  re 
garded  by  my  shipmates,  some  of  whom  were  rough  and 
reckless  men,  such  as  sober,  quiet  people  anywhere  in 
the  world  are  shy  of.  Some,  too,  would  at  times  be  the 
worse  for  liquor;  heedless,  boisterous  and  quarrelsome. 

Once,  a  man  in  this  condition  lurched  against  a  woman 
who  was  carrying  a  child  on  one  arm  and  an  earthen 
jar  on  the  other,  striking  her  with  his  elbow  in  such  a 
way  that  to  save  herself  from  falling,  she  had  to  drop 
the  jar.  As  I  saw  the  jar  drop,  I  thought  that  he  had 
knocked  it  out  of  her  hand,  and  it  looked  as  if  he  might 
have  struck  her.  There  was  a  little  outcry,  and  some 
thing  like  a  mob  at  once  gathered  about  us,  looking  at 
us  menacingly,  but  the  woman  apparently  explained 


264  REAL    CHINA. 

that  she  thought  there  had'  been  no  wrong  intention, 
the  rest  of  us  expressed  our  regret,  and  in  a  few  mo 
ments  there  was  a  general  bowing  and  smiling,  and  a 
way  was  opened  for  us  to  go  on. 

As  a  rule,  at  all  the  villages,  and  even  at  lone  farm 
houses,  where  the  people  had  been  accustomed  to  see 
foreigners,  we  were  allowed  to  wander  freely,  and  were 
treated  with  a  degree  of  charitable  civility,  that,  in  view 
of  all  the  circumstances,  seems  to  me  now  quite  wonder 
ful.  "We  roved  wherever  inclination  led  us,  hardly  ever 
saying  "by  your  leave,"  but  taking  that  for  granted; 
much  as  I  have  since  seen  a  band  of  saucy  Comanches  do 
in  a  Mexican  border  village.  Thus  we  made  our  way, 
often  interrupting  men  and  women  at  their  work,  into 
shops  and  factories,  boat-builders'  yards  and  potteries, 
gardens,  cemeteries  and  houses  of  worship;  even  into 
private  houses,  seldom  receiving  the  rebuffs  or  rebukes 
which  I  am  sure  that  we  deserved,  often  invited  and  as 
sisted  to  gratify  our  curiosity. 

This  good-natured  disposition  was,  as  far  as  I  can  re 
member,  universal.  "We  met,  to  be  sure,  few  but  the 
poor  and  lowly,  yet  we  occasionally  encountered  some 
of  the  more  fortunate  classes.  Once,  for  example,  we 
had  alongside  of  our  ship  an  elegant  yacht  in  which  a 
wealthy  merchant  had  come  to  deal  for  some  part  of 
our  cargo.  After  quitting  work  in  the  afternoon,  I  went 
to  the  gangway  of  this  singular  craft,  which  was  much 
like  those  described  by  Marco  Polo  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  and  by  lifting  my  eyebrows  toward  one  of  the 
crew,  asked  if  I  could  come  on  board.  The  man  stepped 
into  the  cabin  and  returned  with  a  well-dressed  young 
fellow,  perhaps  the  owner's  son,  who  at  once  offered  his 
hand  to  assist  me  in  stepping  down  on  board,  and  then 
extended  it  as  an  invitation  toward  the  cabin,  into  which 


REAL     CHINA.  265 

lie  followed  me.  The  cabin  was  rich  with  carvings,  and 
contained  some  pretty  furniture  of  black  wood  inlaid 
with  ivory  and  mother-of-pearl,  and  a  number  of  mu 
sical  instruments.  All  these  were  shown  to  me  in  a 
pleasant  way.  In  a  corner  there  were  two  gentlemen 
over  a  table,  playing  chess,  I  think.  When  we  came 
near  them  they  bowed  and  smiled,  and  the  servant  at 
this  moment  bringing  in  the  tea-things,  which  were 
placed  upon  another  table,  they  rose,  and  one  of  them 
handed  me  a  cup  of  tea.  Delicious  it  was;  they  each 
took  a  cup  of  it  with  me,  then  offered  me  cigarettes,  and 
finally  waited  on  me  to  the  gangway,  and  bowed  me 
over  the  side  with  perfectly  grave  suavity. 

If  I  had  been  a  full-blown  admiral  in  a  "  brass  coat," 
greater  respect  could  hardly  have  been  paid  to  me.  I 
was,  in  fact,  a  very  insignificant  working-man  in  my 
shirt-sleeves.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  was  wearing  any 
shoes,  and  I  much  doubt  if  my  hands  were  free  from  the 
slush  and  tar  of  the  rigging,  in  the  repair  of  which  I 
had  just  before  been  engaged. 

On  another  occasion,  I  boarded  an  armed  Chinese 
vessel,  said  to  be  the  floating  quarters  of  a  mandarin  or 
high  officer,  and  met  with  even  warmer  hospitality; 
dishes  of  stewed  meat,  rice,  fruit,  and  a  little  cup  of 
spirits  being  set  before  me,  as  well  as  tea  and  tobacco. 

Once  when  on  shore,  hearing  a  hum  like  that  of  an 
infant  school,  I  looked  in  at  the  open  window  of  the 
house  from  which  it  came,  and  saw  an  elderly  man, 
with  great  spectacles,  teaching  about  twenty  little  boys. 
As  soon  as  he  observed  me,  he  laid  clown  his  book, 
came  forward,  and  throwing  open  a  door,  invited  me  to 
enter,  and  then  proceeded  with  great  cleverness,  by 
gesture  and  example,  to  show  me  how  he  taught  the 
boys  to  read. 


266  BEAL    CHINA. 

Following  some  other  sailors  at  a  little  distance,  I 
once  entered  a  building  which,  though  no  idols  were  to 
be  seen,  I  took  to  be  a  place  of  worship  of  some  sort. 
It  was  dark,  and,  overhead  and  in  a  recess  on  the  right 
and  left,  rafters,  wainscot  and  tile  were  to  be  dimly 
made  out  through  a  thin  veil  of  smoke.  A  table  or 
altar  stood  opposite  the  door,  upon  which  joss-sticks 
were  burning.  There  were  numerous  inscriptions  on 
the  walls  and  on  paper  and  silk  lanterns;  banners  and 
flags  hung  from  them  and  from  the  ceiling.  There  were 
also  several  quaint  bells  and  gongs.  The  sailors  had 
made  their  way  through  a  little  crowd  of  Chinese  who 
stood  before  the  altar,  and  some  of  them  had  gone  be 
hind  it  and  were  lifting  the  banners  and  shaking  the 
lanterns;  others  were  striking  the  bells  and  gongs  with 
their  fists  and  knives.  As  I  stood,  peering  in  at  the  door 
and  gradually  making  out  what  I  have  described,  a 
sailor  called  out  tome,  with  an  oath,  "What  are  you 
keeping  your  hat  off  for  in  a  heathen  temple?"  Pres 
ently,  as  my  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  gloom,  I 
saw  an  old  gentleman  observing  me  from  a  side-door. 
As  our  eyes  met  he  bowed,  and  directly  came  forward, 
and  beckoning  me  to  follow  him,  led  the  way  into  a 
little  room,  where  there  were  piles  of  books  and  manu 
scripts.  He  laid  open  one  of  them,  which  appeared 
very  ancient,  and  showed  me  that  it  contained  plans  of 
the  building,  and  tried,  in  a  gentle,  patient  way,  to 
make  me  understand  something  of  its  origin  and  pur 
poses.  He  could  use  a  very  few  words  of  Pigeon-Eng 
lish,  and,  rightly  or  wrongly,  I  made  out  that  the  object 
of  the  structure  was  to  keep  the  memory  green  and 
preserve  the  sayings  of  some  good  man  who  lived  many 
generations  ago.  Afterwards  the  old  gentleman  took 
me  through  the  main  room,  calling  my  attention  to  the 


KEAL    CHINA.  267 

decorations  of  the  bells  and  other  things  which  he 
thought  admirable,  and  when  I  left,  he  gave  me  several 
printed  papers,  which  I  presumed  to  be  religious  tracts. 
It  was  only  when  we  pulled  up  some  of  the  creeks  or 
bayous  to  a  distance  from  the  fleet,  where  the  people  had 
had  no  direct  dealings  with  foreigners,  and  knew  them 
only  as  rapacious  enemies,  that  we  were  met  with  any 
thing  but  kindness  and  hospitality.  These  were  holiday 
excursions.  Leaving  our  boat  in  charge  of  a  hand  or 
two,  we  would  be  making  our  way  along  the  dykes  of 
the  rice-fields  toward  a  pagoda,  burying-ground  or  vil 
lage,  when  we  would  hear  a  shrill  cry,  soon  repeated 
by  other  voices,  and  presently  see  boys  running  to 
gether  and  shouting  in  concert  a  phrase  which,  it  was 
understood  among  us,  was  equivalent  to  "  Here  come 
the  heathen!"  It  seemed  to  be  a  make-believe  rather 
than  a  real  alarm.  People  near  by  would  look  up  as 
they  heard  the  cry  and  regard  us  curiously;  idlers,  per 
haps,  would  smile;  women  would  pick  up  their  children 
and  draw  back  out  of  our  way;  but  nobody  stopped 
work  or  looked  at  all  threateningly,  except  the  vaga- 
bondish  boys,  and  they  seemed  more  disposed  to  make 
fun  of  us  than  to  injure  or  repel  us.  Sometimes  as 
these  gained  boldness  with  numbers,  they  would  menace 
us  with  stones  and  potsherds  and  pelt  us  with  balls  of 
mud.  But  though  we  heard  that  some  other  sailors  had 
been  driven  into  a  miry  place,  out  of  which  they 
escaped  with  difficulty,  I  doubt  if  it  had  not  been  after 
some  aggravated  provocation.. 

Once,  when  we  were  fatigued  and  dry,  while  one  of 
these  little  mobs  was  hanging  upon  and  jeering  us,  we 
saw  a  boy  who  was  carrying  a  pot  of  water.  By  motions 
we  made  him  understand  that  we  would  pay  for  a  drink 
from  it.  After  a  little  while  a  bolder  boy  took  the  pot,  and 


268  HEAL    CHINA. 

bringing  it  near  to  us,  set  it  upon  the  ground,  and  with 
a  laugh  ran  away.  After  we  had  satisfied  ourselves,  we 
laid  some  "cash"  by  the  side  of  it,  and  drew  back, 
whereupon  the  same  boy,  a  ragged,  half-starved  Chi 
nese  urchin,  took  the  jar  and  kicked  the  money  toward 
us,  laughing  again  and  shaking  his  head. 

We  had  a  man  known  as  Sam,  attached  to  our  ship 
while  she  lay  in  the  river,  who  ran  errands  with  a  small 
shore-boat  for  the  captain,  acted  as  our  interpreter,  and 
made  himself  useful  in  any  way  he  could,  either  in  the 
cabin  or  on  deck.  He  was  a  willing  and  skillful  servant, 
and  the  captain  tried  to  engage  him  to  go  to  America 
with  us.  At  last,  our  steward  falling  ill,  the  captain 
offered  Sam  very  high  wages,  double  as  much  as  he  had 
proposed  to  pay  at  first.  He  persistently  declined, 
and  told  me  that  if  the  captain  doubled  his  offer  again 
he  would  not  go.  I  remonstrated  with  him,  for  we 
would  all  have  liked  him  as  a  shipmate,  when  he  ex 
plained  that  he  was  the  only  son  of  an  aged  man,  and 
that  it  would  therefore  be  infamous  for  him  to  go  away 
from  home.  If  his  father  did  not  need  his  care,  he 
would  have  jumped  at  the  captain's  offer. 

I. had  made  a  friendly  acquaintance  with  a  merchant's 
clerk  by  giving  him  some  lessons  in  the  English  alpha 
bet.  Shortly  before  we  went  to  sea,  he  came  on  board 
and  remarked  to  me  that  when  Chinamen  ventured  upon 
the  ocean  they  set  up  a  joss  in  their  cabin,  before  which, 
from  time  to  time,  they  set  cups  of  tea  and  burned  joss- 
sticks  and  paper-prayers.  He  did  not  see  any  joss  in 
our  cabin,  and  he  asked  me  if  I  would  not  be  more 
comfortable,  when  a  great  storm  arose,  if  such  a  recog 
nition  of  our  dependence  upon  the  good-will  of  a  Supe 
rior  Being  had  been  observed.  It  was  a  simple,  friendly 
inquiry,  made  in  a  perfectly  well-bred  manner. 


A    WORD     OF    ADVICE.  269 

I  suppose  that  civilization  is  to  be  tested  as  much  by 
civility  as  anything  else,  and  I  have  recalled  these  inci 
dents  as  illustrations  of  a  personal  experience  which 
made  a  strong  impression  upon  me,  tending  to  a  higher 
estimate  of  the  social  condition  of  the  masses  of  the 
Chinese  people  than,  I  think,  generally  prevails. 


A  WOED  OF  ADVICE. 

BY  GENERAL  WM.  T.  SHERMAN,  U.S.A. 

'*  *  *  I  bear  in  high  honor  all  men  who  devote 
themselves  to  the  cause  of  education,  more  especially  of 
that  class  of  boys  and  girls  who  appeal  to  the  charitable 
consideration  of  the  more  favored. 

Mine  has  been  a  career  not  likely  to  be  followed  by 
any;  and  my  thoughts  and  feelings  have  been  so  en 
grossed  by  public  events  which  are  not  likely  to  be  re 
peated,  that  no  single  sentiment  is  uppermost  in  my 
thoughts.  The  world  is  far  from  being  finished,  and 
the  clearest  mind  can  penetrate  but  a  little  way  into  the 
future.  The  career  of  the  highest  or  lowest  is  like  the 
voyage  of  a  ship  upon  an  unknown  sea.  No  one  knows 
the  port  of  destination  or  the  exact  path  he  must  tread, 
but  he  can  carry  in  his  mind  a  compass,  as  true  as  the 
needle  to  the  pole,  that  will  surely  be  safe :  an  honest, 
manly  purpose,  sustained  by  pure  morals.  These  do  not 
change.  They  were  the  same  in  the  beginning,  are  now, 
and  ever  will  be. 

If  you  can  carry  out  into  the  world  a  knowledge  that 
labor  of  the  hand  and  head  is  honorable;  that  truth  and 
fidelity,  amidst  temptation,  always  prevail  in  the  end; 
and  that  although  brilliant  talents  may  shine  for  a  time, 
success  always  rewards  the  industrious  and  patient,  your 
task  will  be  measurably  complete. 


270  THE    COT    BY    THE    HILL. 

THE  COT  BY  THE  HILL. 

BY  FRANK  SOULE. 

WHEN  memory  turns  to  the  old  pleasant  places 

Whose  scenes  could  my  heart  with  pure  happiness  fill, 
I  see,  fresh  and  smiling,  the  same  dear  old  faces 

I  loved  in  my  childhood  and  youth,  and  love  still. 
And  there  by  the  maples,  the  oaks  and  the  beeches, 

Whose  leaves  in  the  fresh  breezes  flutter  and  trill, 
The  house  by  the  wild  wood,  the  home  of  my  childhood, 

The  little  old  cottage  sits  under  the  hill. 

Again  it  seems  peopled  with  those  who  have  died  there, 

And  those  whose  fresh  youth  talked  with  voluble  tongue, 
Alive  and  still  joyous  as  those  who  abide  there, 

Serene  the  mature,  and  o'erjoyous  the  young. 
Grown  rough  with  Time's  losses,  and  spotted  with  mosses, 

There  stands  the  old  homestead,  hospitable  still; 
Old-fashioned  and  hoary,  old  house  of  one  story, 

The  home  of  my  childhood,  that  sits  by  the  hill. 

The  world  hath  its  palaces,  costly  and  royal, 

In  gorgeousness  planned,  and  embellished  by  art, 
Yet  to  that  old  house  is  my  love  ever  loyal, 

And  dearer  that  home  of  my  youth  to  my  heart; 
For  there  in  their  beauty  dwelt  love,  joy  and  duty, 

And  there  in  my  fancy  I  see  living  still 
The  father  who  blessed  me,  and  one  who  caressed  me, 

My  mother,  who  lived  in  that  cot  by  the  hill. 

That  old  house  remains,  but  the  faces  have  faded, 

Like  beautiful  stars  from  their  places  on  high, 
When  heaven's  blue  vault  by  the  clouds  are  invaded; 

These  live  in  my  heart,  as  those  dwell  in  the  sky: 
The  father  and  mother,  the  sister  and  brother, 

All  gone!  but  they  live  in  my  memory  still; 
And  often  I  meet  them  in  dreaming,  and  greet  them 

As  in  the  old  days  in  that  cot  by  the  hill. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


HOW    DO    WE    LEARN    OUR    LIFE?  271 

• 

Ah  me!  but  afar  away  thence  have  I  wandered! 

A  continent  thrusts  up  its  rough  ribs  between; 
In  search  of  the  beautiful,  life  have  I  squandered, 

Neglecting  the  present  to  seek  the  unseen. 
But  weary  the  yearning,  and  dreary  life's  urning, 

And  sadly  I  think  of  the  old  cottage  still, 
The  fond  ones  who  smiled  there,  the  love  that  beguiled  there, 

And  changed  to  a  palace  that  cot  by  the  hill. 


HOW  DO  WE  LEAEN  OUR  LIFE  ? 

BY  CHARLES  A.  SUMNER. 

How  do  we  learn  our  life  ?     How  read  the  page, 

AsTirne's  hard  finger  throws  it  o'er? 
With  what  reflections  do  we  grow  in  age, 

And  near  the  sands  of  th'  inevitable  shore  ? 

Full  soon  we  find  that  heaven  has  well  decreed 

To  every  man  his  own  peculiar  fate : 
With  following  hours  contrasting  thought  and  deed, 

With  years  all  barren,  and  with  moments  great. 

Full  soon  we  read  a  law  of  equal  birth, 

To  which,  without  incongruous  act,  we  give 

A  holier  homage  in  the  scenes  of  earth: — 
Unto  himself  no  man  can  truly  live. 

A  thousand  times  the  precious  truth  we  hear; 

Still  from  our  practice  it  remains  concealed; — 
Till  blessed  sorrow  makes  our  wants  appear, 

And  all  adapted  uses  are  revealed. 


272  KOPHINS'  BOY. 

KOPHINS'  BOY. 

BY  DOKN  PlATT. 

KOPHINS'  boy  came  under  that  style  of  architecture 
known  to  humanity  as  the  Gothic,  His  front  and  rear 
elevation  presented  the  same  eccentricity  of  construc 
tion  that  marked  the  order  born  of  barbarism  in  the 
dark  ages.  They  had  the  pointed  arches,  slender  sup 
ports,  flying  buttresses  and  profusion  of  pinnacles,  with 
out,  however,  the  grace  that  made  the  Gothic  so  ac 
ceptable  to  the  religious  mind  of  Europe.  Kopkins' 
boy  was  light  and  eccentric  in  design,  but  not  graceful. 
Indeed,  cultured  people  were  wont  to  express  disgust 
at  the  lack  of  grace  Kophins'  boy  exhibited  in  his  con 
struction. 

Kophins,  the  proprietor  of  this  youth,  was  an  under 
taker,  and  dealt  in  ready-made  inclosures  for  the 
remains  of  the  departed.  An  old  and  somewhat  dimmed 
gilt  sign  upon  the  glass  doors  informed  surviving 
friends  and  relatives  that  the  establishment  was  open  at 
all  hours.  That  so  useful,  moral  and  high-toned  a 
concern  might  not  be  mistaken  for  a  saloon,  where 
thirsty  mortals  found  refreshment, — also  open  at  all 
hours — or  an  apothecary's  establishment, 
"Full  of  deleterious  med'cines, 
All  of  whom  partook  are  dead  since," 

that  carries  upon  its  front  a  like  statement, — Kophins' 
bay-window  exhibited  a  baby's  casket  of  such  rare  fin 
ish  and  furnish  that  it  really  looked  inviting.  The  cas 
ket  was  bronze,  lined  with  white  satin;  and  if  mothers, 
passing,  got  one  glance  and,  shuddering,  hurried  by, 
such  fact  only  illustrated  that  absence  of  taste  which 
finds  such  frequent  expressions  of  admiration  for  hand 
some  corpses  indulged  in  by  old  ladies  at  funerals. 


KOPHINS'  BOY.  273 

It  was  one  of  the  duties  imposed  on  Kophins'  boy  to 
look  after  the  cleaning  and  polishing  of  this  show-case 
for  an  infant,  that  Kophins  himself  gazed  upon  with 
untiring  admiration.  It  was  the  undertaker's  firm  be 
lief  that  such  a  delicate  and  inviting  receptacle  robbed 
death  of  all  its  terrors.  "It's  a  sweet  thing,"  Kophins 
would  say,  "  and  I  don't  believe  there  is  a  right-minded 
parent,  leastwise  one  of  any  sense,  but  would  feel  re 
lieved  to  see  his  or  her  offspring  reposing  in  such  a 
casket  as  that." 

It  is  seldom  that  we  open  our  minds  to  the  deeper 
and  more  hidden  recesses  in  the  expression  of  opinions 
on  very  great  subjects;  otherwise  Kophins  would  have 
startled  his  hearers  with  the  assertion  that  this  last 
touch  of  art  in  the  direction  of  burials,  created  a  feeling 
of  envy  in  the  heart  of  many  a  poor  parent,  who  would 
be  tempted  to  an  overdose  of  Mrs.  Winslow's  soothing 
syrup,  that  the  darling  might  be  laid  out  in  just  such  a 
gem  of  a  coffin. 

This,  however,  was  not  Kophins7  boy's  only  duty. 
Mr.  Kophins  was  an  undertaker  who  dealt  in  ready-made 
coffins,  suitable  to  all  ages  and,  sizes,  and  as  we  have 
said,  was  open  at  all  hours.  That  is,  Kophins  was  open 
to  orders,  his  shop  to  customers,  and  his  coffins  to 
corpses.  To  make  this  arrangement  available,  it  was  not 
only  necessary  to  have  a  handsome  assortment  of  coffins, 
an  e'stablishment  with  glass  doors  and  a  sign,  but  some 
one  on  the  watch  all  the  time  to  answer  any  unexpected 
summons.  And  herein  was  the  gravest  duty  of  the 
Gothic  youth.  He  slept  in  an  old  coffin  under  the 
counter,  with  his  nose  within  a  foot  of  the  brass  alarm, 
that  had  a  knob  on  the  outside  marked  "night-bell." 

That  such  summons  were  common  the  Gothic  youth 
could  testify.  He  was  not  a  young  man  of  a  philosoph- 
18 


274  KOPHINS'  BOY. 

ical  turn  of  mind,  but  long  experience  had  taught  him 
that  his  first  sweet  sleep  of  night  would  be  seldom 
broken.  It  was  generally  after  midnight,  and  more 
frequently  between  two  A.  M.  and  daylight,  that  the 
dreadful  bell  would  terminate  his  slumbers,  and  he 
would  receive  summons  for  his  master  to  measure  the 
remains  of  some  one  in  whose  body  warmth  lingered 
after  death,  as  twilight  deepens  into  night  after  sunset. 

Kophins'  boy  attributed  this  aggravating  fact  to  the 
total  depravity  of  human  nature,  which  selected  the 
most  exasperating  hour  to  die.  "Dern  it,'7  he  would 
exclaim,  "  why  can't  they  wait  till  a  feller  has  his  break 
fast  and  is  ready  for  'em  ?"  Kophins'  boy  actually  felt 
aggrieved  that  the  dying  was  not  done  during  business 
hours,  say  between  nine  A.  M.  and  three  P.  M.,  when 
bankers,  brokers,  lawyers,  and  the  better  class  of  com 
mercial  minds  attend  to  their  several  avocations. 

We  said  our  Gothic  creation  was  not  of  a  philosoph 
ical  turn.  He  could  not  grapple  with  and  grasp  a  fact, 
and  then  get  at  the  reason  for  the  same.  He  only  got 
the  fact.  He  knew  that  if  the  bell  was  rung  before 
midnight,  and  after  dark,  it  meant  an  accident,  a  casu 
alty;  if  subsequently,  it  meant  that  some  man,  woman,  or 
child  had  hung  on  until  everybody  was  tired  out,  and 
then  died. 

He  did  not  know  of  the  ebb  and  flow  of  life's  tide 
that  goes  on  in  the  twenty-four  hours,  and  that  after- 
midnight,  along  towards  two  in  the  morning,  vitality  is 
at  its  lowest,  and  the  sick  one,  whose  hold  on  life  has 
come  to  be  weaker  and  weaker,  suddenly  slips  cable — 
we  really  do  not  know  what  that  means,  but  it  sounds 
all  right — and  floats  out  into  eternity. 

Byron  has  said,  in  language  more  expressive  than 
polite,  that  the  talk  of  a  troubled  conscience  in  the 


275 

hours  of  the  night  is  all  twaddle,  and  that  it  is  in  the 
morning  that  that  troublesome  article  wakens  to  worry 
its  possessor.  Kophins'  boy  had  not  lived  a  busy  life, 
amid  scheming  men  and  beautiful  women.  He  had  no 
knowledge,  therefore,  of  that  night-bell  which  about 
two  in  the  morning  wakes  one  to  consciousness,  to  stare 
into  the  blank  night,  when  the  devil  sits  upon  one's 
foot-board,  as  if  it  were  the  foot-stone  to  one's  grave, 
and,  with  malicious  grins,  passes  all  one's  sins  and  fol 
lies  in  vivid  review. 

Kophins'  boy  was  not  given  to  mental  gymnastics  of 
any  sort.  He  only  knew  that  his  hunger,  like  the  shop, 
was  open  at  all  hours,  and  that  he  was  wretchedly  clad 
in  the  undertaker's  old  clothes,  and  overworked.  He 
had  not  a  wide  circle  of  friends .  He  had  no  friends  he 
knew  of,  and  his  limited  number  of  acquaintances  re 
garded  him  as  dirty  and  disagreeable.  It  was  a  com 
mon  remark,  made  by  the  few  who  did  notice  him,  that 
if  Kophins  advertised  ready-made  skeletons  to  fill  his 
coffins,  he  would  have  one,  at  least,  to  begin  with.  The 
poor  fellow,  as  we  have  said,  was  in  a  perpetual  state 
of  hunger,  and  when  not  running  errands,  carrying  bills, 
or  cleaning  show  coffins,  had  an  unhappy  way  of  gnaw 
ing  his  knuckles,  as  if  tempted  to  eat  himself.  As  his 
hands  were  dirty,  the  neighbors  gauged  his  appetite  by 
the  uninviting  appearance  of  the  attempted  meal. 

Had  one  inspected  the  poor  boy  a  little  closer,  which 
no  one  was  tempted  to  do,  such  observer  would  have 
noted  that  in  his  construction  Kophins'  apprentice  was 
not  all  Gothic.  His  intellect,  or  that  part  of  the  body 
supposed  to  hold  that  precious  possession,  was  covered 
with  a  dome.  His  long,  thin,  cadaverous  face  sat  under 
an  unnaturally  large,  round  skull.  This  gave  to  his 
deep-set,  dreamy  sort  of  eyes  a  grotesque  expression  of 


276 

intelligence,  such  as  one  notes  in  Dion  Boucicault,  the 
Shakesperean  adapter  and  scene-shifter  of  his  age.    We 
call  attention  to  this,  that  we  may  make  probable  the 
adventure  that  befell   the   night-watch   of  the   coffin 
maker  we  are  about  to  narrate. 

One  dismal  November  night,  Kophins'  boy  closed  the 
front  door  of  the  establishment,  locked  the  same,  low 
ered  the  gas  above  the  beautiful  coffin  for  the  ideal 
baby,  and  prepared  for  his  night's  repose.  At  least,  he 
prepared  for  as  much  of  it  as  the  usual  mortality  of 
Kophins'  customers  would  permit.  The  poor  boy  felt 
that  some  exasperating  specimen  of  dying  humanity  was 
clinging  to  life  until  he,  the  guardian  of  its  last  tene 
ment,  should  be  passing  from  the  heavy  sleep  of  night 
to  that  lighter  and  pleasanter  condition  of  rest,  and 
then  suddenly  drop  off,  for  his  (the  boy's)  especial  an 
noyance. 

The  night  was  one  of  storm.  The  rain  fell  heavily, 
and  the  wind  blew  it  in  dashes  against  the  sashed  doors 
and  bay-window,  where  it  ran  down  in  drops,  as  if  all 
the  tears  yet  to  be  shed  over  the  coffins  yet  to  be  filled 
had  been  furnished  in  advance.  To  make  this  supposi 
tion  the  more  perfect,  the  wind  sighed,  and  moaned, 
and  shrieked,  as  if  all  the  surviving  friends  and  relatives 
had  united  in  one  unanimous  howl  of  lamentation. 

The  Gothic  youth  of  a  night-watch  over  the  husks  of 
dead  humanity  pulled  the  old  coffin,  that  served  as  his 
bedstead,  from  its  hidden  recess,  and  then  gave  the 
straw  pillow  and  hard  mattress  some  vicious  punches. 
This  bed-making  ended,  he  divested  his  pedal  extremi 
ties  of  a  pair  of  heavy  shoes,  and  contemplated  his  toes, 
that  protruded  from  the  coarse  woolen  socks  in  a  way 
that  indicated  their  wear  to  be  more  of  a  formality  than 
a  comfort.  Then  he  threw  off  his  coat,  which  he  folded 


KOPHINS'  BOY.  277 

and  placed  under  his  pillow.  He  went  no  further  in 
his  preparation  for  bed,  but  rolling  into  his  strange 
couch,  sat  up,  after  reaching  in  under  and  fetching  out 
a  piece  of  stale  bread  and  a  dried  herring,  that  he  pro 
ceeded  to  eat  with  evident  relish. 

The  old  coffin  he  used  as  a  couch  had  been  hurriedly 
put  together  for  a  stout  official,  a  Mason,  who  went  off 
through  the  favor  of  apoplexy,  leaving  nearly  three 
hundred  pounds  of  adipose  matter  to  bury.  The  heirs 
ordered  the  coffin,  and  the  order  was  of  so  economical 
a  nature  that  the  box  was  rejected  by  the  Masonic 
Lodge,  that  rightly  concluded  that  their  imposing  cere 
monies  would  be  marred  by  such  an  exhibit.  It  was 
no  bad  couch,  then,  if  one  could  get  over  the  preju 
dices  its  nature  created. 

We  are  all  the  creatures  of  habit.  Does  not  Sara 
Bernhard  keep  in  her  aristocratic  apartment  a  gorgeous 
crimson-lined  coffin,  designed  by  herself,  in  which  her 
thin  body  and  strange  genius  shall  one  day  be  shut  out 
from  the  love  and  admiration  of  French  humanity? 
"  No  need  of  such  reminder  to  me,"  the  Rachel  of  the 
English-speaking  stage,  Clara  Morris,  can  say,  for  she 
looks  death  himself  in  the  face  all  the  time,  sleeping  or 
awake. 

Kophins'  boy  not  only  grew  to  like  his  bed  that  was 
so  comfortably  lined,  but  he  soon  came  to  regard  with 
indifference  the  rows  of  coffins  ranged  in  an  upright 
position  along  the  walls  and  on  the  shelves  of  the  estab 
lishment.  On  this  night  he  munched  his  frugal  repast, 
listening  to  the  storm  without,  as  comfortably  quiet  as 
one  would  sup  at  John  Chamberlain's. 

Either  the  pattering  of  the  rain,  the  sighing  of  the 
wind,  or  the  heavy  condition  of  the  atmosphere,  made 
the  Gothic  watch  of  seventeen  unusually  sleepy.  He 


278 

could  scarcely  keep  awake  long  enough  to  crowd  down 
the  last  morsel  of  bread  and  fish.  He  had  just  folded 
the  drapery  of  his  couch  about  him,  and  lapsed  into  sleep, 
when  he  dreamed  some  other  than  himself  was  present. 
He  saw  emerging  from  a  gloomy  corner,  that  the  night- 
gas  did  not  reach,  a  man,  who  feebly  and  slowly  walked 
along  the  line  of  coffins,  as  if  giving  them  a  careful  in 
spection.  Strange  as  it  seemed,  this  extraordinary 
spectacle  did  not  startle  the  boy  in  the  least.  "Here 
is  a  cuss,"  he  thought,  "lookin'  up  his  own  coffin;"  and 
it  did  not  strike  him  that  this  was  at  all  strange.  At 
last  the  man  passed  before  one,  and  muttering,  "This 
will  do,"  stepped  in,  and,  folding  his  thin,  white  hands 
upon  his  breast,  composed  himself  for  that  sleep  which 
knows  no  waking. 

"Well,  he  ain't  particular,"  thought  the  boy,  as  he 
observed  the  cheap  sort  of  coffin  selected. 

The  thought  had  scarcely  passed  his  mind  ere  he 
saw,  from  the  same  gloomy  recess,  a  woman  emerge, 
who  also  inspected  the  coffins  as  if  in  search  of  her  own. 
She  had  wide,  staring  eyes,  and  unlike  her  predecessor, 
instead  of  going  direct  to  her  coffin,  she  hesitated,  and 
paused,  and  moaned,  and  turned  to  look  back,  with  a 
longing  expression  on  her  white,  cadaverous  face  that 
was  very  pitiful,  indeed.  The  boy  recognized  her  as 
a  woman  who  lived  in  the  neighborhood.  She  at  last 
selected  her  burial  case,  and,  after  wringing  her  poor 
hands  in  much  grief,  arranged  herself  in  a  seemly  way 
to  sleep. 

After  came  an  old  man.  He  hobbled  along  painfully, 
and  not  only  groaned,  but  used  profane  language.  The 
infirmities  of  age,  and  the  pain  from  disease  made  him 
petulant.  The  boy  knew  this  one  also.  He  was  old 
Bullion,  said  to  be  worth  millions,  and  who  through 


KOPHINS'   BOY.  279 

life  had  been  accustomed  to  please  himself,  and  now  he 
was  hard  to  please.  He  would  try  first  one  coffin  and 
then  another,  and  from  each  he  would  suddenly  emerge, 
and  in  a  thin,  querulous  voice,  cry  out:  "Ugh."  At 
last,  apparently  from  sheer  exhaustion,  he  stumbled  into 
one,  and  ceased  his  grumblings  forever. 

After  appeared  the  shadow  of  a  girl.  She  was  tall 
enough  to  be  sixteen,  but  oh !  she  was  so  slender,  and 
she  was  so  feeble.  There  was  no  selection  on  her  part. 
She  hurried  into  the  nearest  coffin,  crossed  her  poor 
hands  and  closed  her  weary  eyes,  as  if  it  were  such  a 
relief  to  rest. 

Then  came  a  horrible  spectacle.  At  least  it  was  a 
horrible  thing  to  remember,  but  Kophins'  boy  did  not 
start  nor  shudder  at  the  sight  of  a  man  covered  with 
blood  from  a  wound  in  the  breast.  He  was  one  in 
the  prime  of  life,  if  we  may  use  such  an  expression 
here,  but  his  face  carried  an  expression  of  agony  and 
despair  that  was  terrible  to  look  upon.  He  then  threw 
himself  into  the  first  coffin  he  gained,  and  clutching  his 
bloody  hands  above  his  bloody  breast,  said : 

"  I  made  short  work  of  that,  by ." 

The  noise  of  his  violent  exit  died  away,  and  Kophins' 
boy  saw  a  little  four-year  old,  with  glossy  ringlets  and 
bright,  brown  eyes,  steal  noiselessly  along,  and  through 
some  strange  agency  that  did  not  strike  the  boy  as 
strange,  was  lifted  into  one  of  the  caskets,  satin-lined, 
prepared  for  children.  The  little  thing  smiled  gently 
as  its  pretty  hands  fell  upon  its  breast,  and  it  too  sank 
into  sleep. 

Then  appeared  an  old  lady,  who  pausing,  looked  back 
and  beckoned,  and  from  the  gloom  came  an  old,  white- 
haired  man,  who  seemed  striving  to  overtake  the  woman 
who  beckoned  him;  but  she  gained  her  coffin  first,  and 


280  KOPHINS'  BOY. 

had  closed  her  eyes  ere  he  had  settled  himself  iu  the 
one  next  hers. 

Then  appeared  children — some  were  babies,  and  some 
were  quite  grown — some  wailed  and  moaned;  others 
went  smiling  to  their  narrow  homes. 

And  then  more  men  and  more  women  entered,  until 
all  the  ready-made  coffins  were  filled,  and  yet  others 
appeared,  and  for  the  first  time  Kophins'  boy  won 
dered.  Up  to  this  time  he  had  taken  it  all  as  a  matter  of 
course;  now  he  wondered  what  his  master  would  do  for 
more  ready-made  coffins.  At  last  they  gathered  about 
that  in  which  slept  the  boy,  and  gazed  afc  him  as  if  he 
were  in  the  way.  He  did  not  respond  to  their  ugly 
glances,  and  a  rough,  brutal-looking  man  stepped  for 
ward  and  said: 

"  I  was  hanged  to-day.  The  county  owes  me  a  coffin; 
get  out  of  that." 

As  the  boy  did  not  move,  the  ruffian  seized  him  by 
the  shoulder,  and  shaking  it  violently,  cried  out: 

"  You  whelp,  are  you  going  to  sleep  here  all  day?" 
It  was  the  voice  of  his  master;  and  the  apprentice, 
opening  his  eyes,  saw  that  angry  man  pointing  to  the 
bright  sunlight  that  glared  in  at  the  windows. 


ON     THE     NILE.  281 

ON  THE  NILE. 

BY  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD.      . 

I  WAS  heading  for  Nubia;  I  floated  between  shadowy 
shores  dotted  with  slumbering  villages;  mysterious 
forms  passed  noiselessly  to  and  fro;  sometimes  the 
moon  hung  low  among  the  desert  hills  as  a  caravan 
crept  down  before  it — pilgrims  journeying  from  star  to 
star  over  the  trackless  sand. 

I  was  comparatively  alone  in  a  lonely  land;  a  memory 
of  good  times  among  the  bazaars  of  Grand  Cairo  only 
aggravated  the  solitude.  What  could  we  do  when  the 
night  deepened  but  tie  up  under  the  shore  and  sleep  ? 
But  one  evening,  before  sleep  came,  I  wandered  apart 
and  threaded  a  palm-grove  by  the  river;  that  night,  in 
my  journal,  I  "dropped  into  poetry"  in  the  old  way, 
and  the  following  lines,  together  with  an  armful  of  tro 
phies  of  travel,  are  about  all  I  have  kept  by  me  to  assure 
me  that  Egypt  is  a  reality  and  not  a  mere  romance ! 

FOR  A  SIGN. 
Loafing  along  the  Nile-bank, 

As  lonesome  as  I  could  be, 
The  twilight  deepened  among  the  palms, 

And  the  river  spread  like  a  sea. 

I  heard  the  cry  of  the  night-bird, 

Its  peevish  and  pitiful  cry; 
The  barges  opened  their  great  white  wings, 

And  silently  drifted  by. 

The  soft  air  breathed  upon  me, 

And  marvelous  music  it  bore; 
'T  was  the  mellow  trill  of  the  rustic  flutes, 

Blown  off  from  the  other  shore. 


282  ON    THE     NILE. 

Looking  across  the  water, 
I  laughed  aloud  in  my  glee; 

For  out  of  the  lap  of  the  purple  West 
A  young  star  winked  at  me : 

A  young,  fair  star,  and  lonely, 

That  seemed  to  wink  and  to  smile, 

And  to  fish  for  me  with  a  golden  thread 
Dropped  into  the  mighty  Nile. 

And  I  said  to  myself  that  moment, 
As  I  watched  its  column  of  light, 

I  will  never  feel  lost  in  the  desert  again, 
With  this  pillar  of  fire  by  night! 


*  *  *  In  view  of  the  fact  that  once  I  was  a  poor, 
struggling  boy,  with  no  one  but  myself  to  help  gain  a 
foothold  for  the  future,  I  feel  a  sympathy  for  all  boys 
and  girls  who  are  in  the  thorny  field  of  poverty  and  des 
titution.  When  I  can  push  away  from  my  desk  some  of 
the  orders  and  demands  thereon  for  my  time,  I  shall 
write  an  article  and  send  it  to  you,  in  the  liope  that 
there  may  be  something  in  it  that  will  perhaps  serve  as 
a  ladder,  by  which  those  who  are  in  distress  and  poverty 
can  mount  up  to  higher  and  better  conditions  of  useful 
ness.  In  that  article  I  shall  attempt  no  oratory  nor 
flights  of  poetic  fancy,  but  will  talk  or  write  to  the  little 
ones  directly  from  the  heart  and  the  experiences  of  life. 

With  best  wishes,  and  the  trust  that  your  very  laud 
able  enterprise  will  result  largely  to  the  benefit  of  those 
whose  cause  you  have  espoused,  I  am, 

Very  truly,  thine  for  the  right, 

M.  M.  ("BRICK")  POMEROY. 


CHARLES  CARROLL,  OF  CARROLLTON.    283 


CHAELES  CAKROLL,  OF  CARROLLTON. 

BY  REV.  DR.  MATTHEW  HALE  SMITH. 

THE  Colonies,  which  swelled  into  the  thirteen  States, 
had  a  peculiar  origin.  The  men  who  made  the  settle 
ments  were  religious  men,  seeking  a  place  for  free  and 
unrestricted  worship.  The  Pilgrims,  mainly  Congre- 
gationalists,  settled  in  New  England.  The  Dutch 
Church  settled  New  York.  The  Presbyterians  located 
in  New  Jersey.  The  Friends  purchased  Pennsylvania 
of  the  Indians.  The  Catholics  located  in  Maryland. 
The  Episcopalians  erected  their  altar  in  Virginia.  The 
Baptists  took  the  Carolinas.  The  Methodists  were  the 
foremost  sect  in  Georgia.  These  people  brought  with 
them  the  elements  of  civilization.  They  had  their 
homes,  their  institutions  of  learning,  their  church  pol 
ity  and  their  clergy.  The  patriots,  representing  these 
different  sects,  struck  hands  for  the  cause  of  national 
independence;  in  the  cause  in  which  they  embarked, 
they  pledged  to  one  another  their  ''lives,  their  fortunes, 
and  their  sacred  honor."  This  pledge  was  hallowed  by 
Divine  service. 

On  the  opening  of  the  first  Congress,  a  minister  of 
the  Church  of  England  officiated.  The  lessons  of  the 
day  were  read,  which  were  so  singularly  appropriate 
that  many  thought  they  were  selected  for  the  occasion. 
The  entire  Congress,  after  its  own  forms  of  worship, 
assumed  the  attitude  of  prayer.  The  Puritans  stood. 
The  Friends  added  to  the  erect  position  the  wearing  of 
the  hat.  The  Dutch  and  the  Presbyterians  bowed,  re 
taining  the  sitting  posture.  The  Catholics,  the  Episco 
palians  and  the  Methodists  kneeled. 

Each  of  the  Colonies  sent  representative  men  to  the 


284    CHABLES  CARROLL,  OF  CARROLLTON. 

Continental  Congress.  Each  had  a  peculiarity  of  his 
own.  Some  had  dash  and  heroism;  some  were  distin 
guished  for  great  boldness;  others  for  fervid  oratory,  or 
vehement  patriotism.  Few  men  had  more  influence  than 
Charles  Carroll,  of  Carrollton.  He  could  not  move  the 
masses  by  speech,  like  Samuel  Adams,  of  Massachu 
setts,  but  he  was  supreme  in  council.  He  was  a  gen 
tleman  of  the  old  school,  cultured  and  influential.  A 
man  of  few  words,  but  ever  ready  for  action.  A  patriot 
without  a  reproach;  a  Christian  whose  light  was  not 
hidden  under  a  bushel.  There  were  many  Charles  Car- 
rolls  in  Maryland.  "When  the  Declaration  of  Independ 
ence  was  signed,  Mr.  Carroll  simply  signed  it  "  Charles 
Carroll."  Somebody  suggested  that  if  any  "  trouble 
came  out  of  the  performance  of  that  day,  Carroll  would 
escape;  there  were  so  many  Charles  Carrolls  in  Mary 
land,  it  would  be  difficult  to  select  the  culprit."  Car 
roll  immediately  recalled  the  instrument,  and  with  a 
bold,  dashing  hand,  added  "of  Carrollton."  As  much 
as  to  say,  if  his  Majesty  George  III.  wants  anything  of 
me,  he'll  know  where  to  find  me.  The  honored  appel 
lation,  "Charles  Carroll,  of  Carrollton,"  has  distin 
guished  the  name  of  Carroll  through  all  these  years 
of  our  nation's  history,  placing  him  foremost  among 
the  heroic  men  who  gave  their  lives  to  the  sacred  cause, 
and  carved  their  names  with  their  own  swords,  on  the 
fagade  of  American  liberty. 


AN  OLD  LETTER  RESTORED.         285 


AN  OLD  LETTEK  EESTOEED. 

BY  MRS.  ANNIE  A.  PRATT. 
My  I) ear  Cousin: 

SHOULD  you  wonder  whence  this  letter, 
Whence  this  huge  attempt  at  burlesque: 
I  should  answer,  I  should  tell  you, 
From  the  great  Eock  Eiver  valley; 
From  the  home  of  my  forefathers, 
Near  the  city  we  call  Janes ville; 
A  mile  removed  from  din  and  bustle, 
A  mile  removed  from  all  confusion ; 
From  the  great  and  noisy  city, 
Where  the  blackened  smoke  of  foundries 
Speak  in  thunder  tones  of  labor, 
Of  the  labor  of  the  white  man, 
Of  his  wondrous  inventions, 
Of  the  movements  of  the  steam-car, 
As  it  thunders  o'er  the  prairies. 
Ever  up  to  time  and  tiding — 
Bringing  ever  the  glad  echo, 
Of  the  faithful  star  of  empire, 
Ever  journeying  to  the  westward, 
To  the  purple  clouds  of  sunset, 
'Till  the  good  and  glorious  Giver 
Of  our  great,  unnumbered  blessings*, 
Shall  recall  us  to  His  bosom, 
To  the  land  of  the  Hereafter. 

While  sitting  on  this  porch  this  evening, 

Gazing  far  into  the  eastward, 

I  am  thinking  of  my  cousin, 

Of  my  much-loved  cousin  Francis, 

In  the  city  of  all  humbugs, 

On  the  Island  of  Manhattan; 

And  the  thought  occurred  unto  me, 


286         AN  OLD  LETTER  RESTORED. 

I  will  answer  now  his  letter. — 
Letter  filled  with  brightest  fancies, 
Filled  with  logic,  too,  and  reason — 
I  am  sure  your  heart  is  in  it, 
For  it  is  a  theme  prolific, — 
Theme  you  ever  love  to  dwell  on — 
May  it  ever  prove  a  blessing, 
And  to  you  a  sure  salvation. 
Here  I'm  sitting  very  lonely, 
Lonely  at  the  hour  of  twilight, 
Wondering  where  are  all  my  loved  ones, 
Those  in  whom  my  heart  delighteth. 
One  half-moon  ago  last  Wednesday, 
I  did  say  farewell  unto  them, 
Unto  those  I  long  to  be  with, 
Be  with  now  and  be  with  ever. 
And  still  further  to  the  westward, 
To  the  portals  of  the  sunset, 
To  the  coast  of  the  Pacific, 
To  the  city  of  St.  Francis, 
Speed  my  thoughts  by  love  directed, 
To  the  husband  of  my  worship, 
To  the  father  of  my  children, 
To  the  home  he  made  so  happy, 
Made  so  happy  by  his  presence. 
As  the  splendors  of  the  sunset 
Fade  into  the  dusk  of  evening, 
And  the  evening  star  upriseth, 
Trembling  star  of  love  and  woman, — 
Gazeth  he  upon  its  luster, 
Thinking  of  his  absent  Annie, 
Of  the  partner  of  his  bosom, 
Of  his  good  and  loving  daughter, 
Tall  and  slender,  fair  and  fragile, 
Of  his  faithful  heart  the  favorite  ? 
Thinketh  he  of  his  boy  fearless, 


AN  OLD  LETTEE  RESTORED.         287 

Of  his  boy  with  eyes  of  midnight, 
And  his  locks  like  wing  of  raven; 
Of  his  boy,  so  like  his  father, 
That  his  mother  ever  findeth 
In  his  features  some  new  beauty: 
Some  resemblance  to  the  image 
In  her  heart  of  hearts  she  beareth  ? 
Hasten,  Time,  your  tardy  footsteps, 
Till  you  bring  the  day  I  meet  him, 
Till  he  clasps  me  to  his  bosom, 
In  the  home  he  makes  so  happy. 

But  still  other  thoughts  the  evening 
Bringeth  in  her  car  of  darkness, 
In  her  car  of  ebon  darkness — 
Thoughts,  my  cousin,  of  thy  kindness, 
Of  thy  pure  and  lofty  mind, 
Of  thy  counsels  kind  and  good, 
Of  thy  friendship  warm  and  faithful; 
Ever  faithful  to  your  cousin, 
To  your  cousin  who  so  prizeth 
Friendship,  rare  as  it  is  faithful — 
To  your  home  in  distant  Gotham, 
To  the  island  of  Manhattan, 
Comes  this  letter  fully  freighted 
"With  the  messages  of  kindness — 
Telling  you  of  our  well-doing, 
Of  the  health  of  all  your  cousins 
In  the  county  of  Ontagamie, 
In  the  valley  of  Fox  Kiver, 
In  Wisconsin,  State  of  badgers. 
There,  too,  dwelleth  old  Eliza, 
With  her  people  and  her  kindred, 
In  the  lodge  of  ancient  Rachel — 
Busy  with  her  hands  and  fingers, 
Making  ready  for  her  journey, 
For  her  journey  to  the  westward. 


288         AN  OLD  LETTEB  RESTORED. 

Catherine,  first-born  of  Eliza, 
From  her  home  on  distant  prairies, 
In  the  land  of  the  Dacotahs, 
From  the  city  of  Menota, 
On  the  banks  of  Mississippi, 
Near  the  falls  of  Minnehaha, 
In  the  land  of  Minnesota, 
Comes  to  gladden  all  her  people 
With  the  pleasure  of  her  presence, 
Comes  to  tarry  with  her  mother, 
Till  the  day  of  her  departure — 
Till  the  fourth  day  of  September. 
There,  too,  Anah,  with  her  children, 
From  the  City  of  the  Portage, 
Sojourns  with  her  loving  mother, 
Till  the  day  of  her  departure — 
Till  the  fourth  day  of  September. 
Rachel,  sister  of  Eliza, 
Worketh  still  with  willing  fingers 
For  the  comfort  of  her  household, 
Of  her  household,  glad  and  grateful. 
Kowland,  spouse  of  ancient  Kachel, 
Worketh  in  his  fertile  garden, 
In  the  grain  so  tall  and  golden, 
'Mong  the  melons,  large  and  yellow, 
Glowing  'neath  the  tender  corn-blades — 
Worketh  late  and  worketh  early, 
KejoiciDg  in  the  great  abundance 
Of  the  rich  and  glowing  harvest. 
Rachel's  first-born,  Foster  Edgar, 
Thinketh  now  to  move  his  wigwam 
To  the  "  Heads/'  off  San  Francisco, 
Where  the  Golden  Gate  shall  open 
Wide  her  portals  to  receive  him. 
Daughters  three  of  "  aged  Eachel," 


AN  OLD  LETTER  RESTORED.        289 

Dwell  beneath  their  father's  roof-tree, 
Thanking  God  for  all  the  comforts, 
All  the  comforts  in  their  wigwam; 
Thanking  ever  the  Great  Spirit 
For  the  blessings  in  their  wigwam. 
Soon  Eliza,  with  her  children — 
Annie,  and  Louisa  Gertrude, 
Youngest  daughter  of  Eliza, 
Charles  and  Lucy,  Annie's  children, 
Soon  will  come  to  you  for  welcome; 
Come  to  tarry  in  your  wigwam 
Till  one  moon  has  waned  and  faded, 
Then  to  hasten  on  their  journey — 
On  their  journey  to  the  westward, 
To  the  coast  of  the  Pacific. 
On  the  seventh  of  September 
We  will  venture  on  the  waters — 
O'er  the  dark  and  stormy  waters, 
In  the  canoe  of  the  white  man, 
Through  the  lakes  once  skimmed  by  red  men, 
Where  their  numbers  were  as  legion, 
Paddling  onward,  ever  onward, 
Till  the  City  of  the  Bison 
Looms  up  grandly  in  the  distance. 
Then  the  horse  with  frame  of  iron, 
Breath  of  steam,  and  lungs  of  fire, 
Shall  convey  us  to  your  city — 
To  your  hospitable  city, 
There  your  guests  until  October. 
Greet  for  us  our  cousin  Sarah; 
The  sioging  bird,  your  gentle  Juliet, 
And  all  the  rest  amongst  our  kindred 
Who  sojourn  upon  the  Hudson — 
On  the  banks  of  far-famed  Hudson. 
Lest  I  should  your  patience  weary, 


19 


290        AN  OLD  LETTER  RESTORED. 

I  will  say  farewell  unto  you. 
May  you  find  this  liasty  missive, 
From  your  kindred  in  "Wisconsin, 
Full  of  news  and  news  of  interest, 
Is  the  heart-felt  wish  of  Annie. 


RED  LODGE  HOUSE  (REFORMATORY  FOR,  BOYS), 
BRISTOL,  ENGLAND. 

*  *  *  I  am  rejoiced  to  learn  that  you  are  tak 
ing  up  the  cause  of  the  children  who  are.  to  constitute 
the  next  generation  in  the  State.  Your  " Directory" 
will  disclose  the  need  of  something  further.  I  began 
with  a  Children's  Agent  in  1864,  to  look  after  every  child 
who  wanted  help.  In  1870,  the  School  Board  adopted 
the  plan  of  "children's  agents."  They  employ  nine  in 
different  districts  of  the  city.  We  are  trying  to  get 
Government  to  take  up  the  matter.  You  should  do  the 
same;  it  is  an  auxiliary  preparation  for  going  to  work. 
You  should  also  have  an  industrial  institution  for  young 
men  from  fifteen  to  twenty  years,  where  some  skilled 
trades  should  be  taught,  as  well  as  rough  work  to  begin 
with,  letting  the  inmates  earn  enough  for  their  board, 
and  leave  as  soon  as  they  can  get  work  outside.  If 
these  are  combined  with  rigorous  police  supervision, 
preventing  any  young  persons  from  infesting  the  streets, 
you  will  soon  save  expense  by  diminished  crime. 
Kindly  let  me  know  how  you  proceed,  and  believe  rao 

yours  sincerely, 

MARY  CARPENTER. 


A  GOOD  AND  NOBLE  BECOED.        291 

A  GOOD  AND  NOBLE  BECOED. 

BY  VERY  REV.  THOMAS  S.  PRESTON. 

ST.  Yincent  de  Paul  was  born  at  Pony,  in  Gascony, 
in  the  year  1576;  Lis  father,  John  de  Paul,  was  a  pious 
farmer,  in  humble  life  and  of  limited  means,  and  his 
family  were  inured  to  the  most  laborious  part  of  country 
labor.  Vincent,  the  third  son,  gave,  at  an  early  age, 
such  extraordinary  signs  of  capacity  and  affection  for 
prayer,  that  his  father  determined,  at  every  sacrifice,  to 
procure  him  an  education,  and  to  second  his  desires  to 
enter  the  holy  priesthood.  He  was,  therefore,  sent,  at 
twelve  years  of  age,  to  learn  Latin  of  the  Franciscan 
Friars,  in  the  neighboring  village  of  Acqs.  Having 
thus  acquired  the  necessary  elementary  knowledge,  he 
was  enabled  to  relieve  his  family  of  the  burden  of  his 
education  and  to  provide  for  himself.  He  became 
tutor  in  the  family  of  a  lawyer  of  the  place,  who,  seeing 
his  good  qualities,  sent  him  to  the  University  of  Tou 
louse,  where  he  passed  seven  years  of  study,  and  was 
ordained  priest  in  the  year  1600.  Up  to  this  time,  his 
life  had  passed  smoothly,  in  the  innocence  of  his 
father's  household  and  amid  the  congenial  occupations 
of  study  and  prayer.  It  pleased  Almighty  God,  who 
purposed  to  make  him  an  apostle  of  charity,  to  put  his 
faith  to  a  severe  test,  and  to  send  him  trials  of  a  very 
unusual  kind.  He  seemed  already  endowed  with  those 
virtues  which  make  up  the  character  of  a  worthy  and 
zealous  minister  of  the  altar,  but  he  was  called  to  prac 
tice  that  more  heroic  self-denial  by  which  man  is  crucL 
fied  to  self  and  all  inordinate  affection.  He  knew  the 
science  of  the  schools,  he  was  now  to  learn  the  mystery 
of  the  cross,  and  by  great  suffering  to  have  a  new  fellow- 


292       A  GOOD  AND  NOBLE  KECOED. 

ship  in  the  consolations  of  Christ.  In  1605  he  was 
called  to  Marseilles  to  receive  a  legacy  left  him  by  a 
friend  in  that  city,  and  on  his  return  voyage  to  Nar- 
bonne  was  captured  by  Turkish  pirates,  carried  to 
Tunis  and  there  sold  as  a  slave.  In  the  dress 
of  a  captive  he  was  led  several  times  through 
the  city,  exposed  to  every  ignominy.  His 
first  purchaser  was  a  fisherman,  who,  finding 
that  the  stranger  would  not  be  able  to  endure  the 
rigors  of  the  sea,  sold  him  very  soon  to  an  alchemist. 
This  man  was  an  enthusiast  in  his  profession;  and,  see 
ing  the  good  qualities  and  capacities  of  Yincent,  was 
captivated  with  him,  and  sought  in  every  way  to  convert 
him  to  the  religion  of  Mohammed,  promising  to  leave 
him  all  his  riches,  and  all  the  secrets  of  his  valued 
science.  All  his  acts  and  affection  could  never  shake 
the  well-grounded  faith  of  the  poor  captive,  who,  in  his 
banishment,  found  his  only  consolation  in  the  lights  of 
prayer,  by  which  God  continually  illumined  and  attracted 
his  heart.  He  lived  with  this  old  man  nearly  one  year, 
when,  by  the  death  of  his  master,  he  became  the  prop 
erty  of  one  of  his  nephews,  a  man  of  evil  temper  and 
overbearing  selfishness.  This  change  tried  well  the 
tender  heart  of  Vincent,  who  would  have  been  almost 
tempted  to  despair,  if  God  had  not  given  him  extra 
ordinary  graces.  But  this  new  master  did  not  retain 
him  long.  He  was  offered  for  sale  the  third  time,  and 
bought  at  last  by  an  apostate  Christian,  who  had  come 
from  Nice.  This  purchase  was  to  prove,  not  only  the 
liberation  of  the  captive,  but  the  conversion  of  the  un 
happy  renegade;  for  Yincent  became  an  apostle  of 
mercy  to  his  soul.  His  farm,  on  a  hot  mountain  of  the 
desert,  was  the  field  of  labor  for  our  hero,  and  there 
alone  he  communed  with  God,  repeating  aloud  the 


A    GOOD     AND     NOBLE     RECORD.  293 

prayers  of  the  Church,  or  singing,  for  his  consolation, 
the  praises  of  Christ.  The  apostate  had  three  wives, 
one  of  whom  was  greatly  moved  by  the  life  and  example 
of  the  poor  slave.  She  went  often  to  the  field  where 
he  was  digging,  and  begged  him  to  sing  to  her  the 
hymns  of  his  religion.  With  tears  in  his  eyes  he  sang 
to  her  the  psalm,  ' '  Upon  the  rivers  of  Babylon,  we  sat 
and  wept  when  we  remembered  Zion,"  the  "Salve 
Regina,"  and  other  prayers.  When  there  seemed  to  be 
no  hope  of  escape,  this  unhappy  Turkish  woman  was 
destined  to  open  the  way.  After  hearing  the  conversa 
tion  of  the  Christian  captive,  she  was  so  much  moved 
that  she  began  to  reproach  her  husband  with  having 
abandoned  the  true  religion,  and,  at  last,  he  listened  to 
the  voice  of  conscience,  and  sincerely  repented  of  his 
apostasy.  He  goes  to  his  slave  and  opens  his  heart, 
confessing  his  grief  and  crime.  They  consult  together 
on  the  best  method  of  escaping,  and  resolve  to  leave 
Tunis  at  once  and  to  seek  some  Christian  shore.  They 
set  sail,  therefore,  upon  the  Mediterranean  in  a  light 
boat,  which  the  least  squall  of  wind  would  upset;  but 
God  guided  the  frail  bark,  and  they  landed  safe  at  a 
small  port  near  Marseilles.  At  Avignon,  in  the  hands 
of  the  Vice-Legate,  the  apostate  made  his  abjuration, 
and  the  following  year,  1608,  went  to  Rome  with  Yin- 
cent,  where  he  entered,  as  a  penitent,  in  the  austere 
community  of  Hospital  Monks,  under  the  rule  of  St. 
John  of  God. 

A  short  stay  in  Rome  served  to  inspire  Vincent  with 
new  devotion,  and  a  more  earnest  desire  to  serve  his 
own  country  in  the  works  of  charity,  to  which  he  felt 
called  by  our  Lord.  In  the  holy  city  he  had  secured 
the  friendship  of  Cardinal  D'Ossat,  who  sent  him  on  a 
secret  mission  to  King  Henry  IV.,  and  introduced  him 


294        A  GOOD  AND  NOBLE  RECORD. 

to  a  class  of  society  which  greatly  increased  his  influ 
ence,  and  was  able  to  aid  him  in  the  undertakings 
which  he  afterwards  commenced.  He  was  nominated 
to  the  abbey  of  St.  Leonard  de  Chaume,  in  the  diocese 
of  Hochelle,  and  also  named  almoner  of  Queen  Marga 
ret,  of  Yalois.  In  1613  he  entered  the  family  of  the 
Count  de  Joigiiy,  as  tutor,  and  in  addition  to  his  regu 
lar  duties,  began  to  preach  to  the  peasantry,  with  such 
results  that  the  Countess,  who  became  his  great  patron, 
offered  to  endow  any  religious  community  who  would 
undertake  tho  same  work.  In  1622  he  became  chaplain 
to  the  galleys  at  Marseilles,  and  gave  himself  up  with  such 
ardor  to  the  welfare  of  the  poor  convicts,  that  he  suc 
ceeded  in  greatly  improving  their  condition  in  body  and 
soul.  "With  the  same  end  in  view,  he  went  to  Paris  and 
introduced  his  reforms  into  the  prisons,  obtained  a  sep 
arate  building  for  the  convicts,  and  lived  in  the  same 
house  with  them;  and  when  he  was  obliged  to  be  ab 
sent,  procured  two  priests,  who  should  minister  to  them. 

In  the  same  year  he  became  director  of  the  nuns  of 
the  Order  of  the  Visitation,  in  Paris,  which  office  he 
retained  until  his  death. 

We  next  hear  of  him  at  Macon,  laboring  among  the 
multitudes  of  thieves  and  beggars,  for  whom  that  city 
was  then  notorious.  By  his  great  efforts  he  wrought 
many  conversions  among  that  abandoned  and  generally 
neglected  class. 

In  1624,  he  at  the  renewed  solicitation  of  the  Countess 
de  Joigny,  established  the  order  of  the  ''Priests  of  the 
Mission."  Five  priests  joined  him  at  first  in  this  un 
dertaking,  and  their  first  residence  was  the  college  of 
the  Sons  Enfants,  of  which  they  took  possession  in  April, 
1625.  Afterwards  the  Archbishop  gave  them  the  priory 
of  St.  Lazarus,  in  Paris,  for  their  permanent  residence, 


A  GOOD  AND  NOBLE  RECORD.        295 

and  from  tins  circumstance  they  bear  the  name  of  Laza- 
rists.  Their  rules  and  constitutions  were  approved  by 
Pope  Urban  VIII.,  in  1632.  They  are  a  congregation 
of  secular  priests,  who,  after  the  probation  of  two  years, 
take  the  usual  vows.  They  are  devoted  to  the  spiritual 
exercises  tending  to  sanctify  their  own  souls;  secondly, 
to  the  conversion  of  sinners,  especially  to  missions 
among  the  poor;  and  thirdly,  to  the  training  of  priests 
for  the  ministry  of  the  altar.  This  order  of  missionaries 
is  now  extensively  spread  throughout  the  world,  and 
still  exhibits  the  spirit  of  its  saintly  founder. 

Vincent  next  devoted  himself  to  the  spiritual  improve 
ment  of  the  clergy,  establishing  retreats  for  the  ecclesi 
astics  preparing  for  ordination,  and  regular  conferences 
for  the  priesthood.  With  the  assistance  of  Cardinal 
Richelieu,  whose  confidence  he  fully  enjoyed,  he  opened 
a  house,  in  1642,  in  which  the  young  priests  might  fit 
themselves  for  their  labors,  by  two  or  three  years  of  re 
tirement  spent  in  prayer  and  spiritual  exercises.  All 
these  efforts  for  the  sanctification  of  the  clergy  were 
fruitful  to  a  wonderful  degree. 

The  foundation  of  the  Sisterhood  of  Charity,  is  per 
haps,  one  of  his  greatest  works,  and  has  given  him  a 
world-wide  renown.  It  had  been  his  custom  wherever 
he  preached  to  establish  confraternities  of  charity,  to 
serve  the  sick  and  relieve  the  distressed.  He  com 
menced  this  plan  at  Bresse,  and  continued  it  in  all  the 
larger  cities.  In  1633  he  resolved  to  further  enlarge 
the  scope  of  these  confraternities  by  erecting  an  order 
which  should  accomplish  these  objects  under  a  more 
perfect  organization.  Four  young  ladies  began  the 
Sisterhood  of  Charity  under  the  direction  of  Madame 
le  Gras,  a  noble  lady  who  had  been  employed  several 
years,  under  his  instructions,  among  the  suffering 


296  A    GOOD     AND     NOBLE     liECOBD. 

and  poor.  The  rule  was  drawn  up,  and  the  good  man 
lived  to  see  twenty-eight  houses  of  the  order  estab 
lished  in  Paris,  besides  others  in  various  parts  of  Eu 
rope.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  enlarge  upon  the  im 
mense  good  accomplished  by  this  one  undertaking.  The 
Sister  of  Charity  is  loved  and  revered  the  world  all 
over,  even  by  those  who  know  not  the  faith  by  which 
she  lives. 

His  next  effort  was  the  establishment  of  a  Found 
ling  Hospital.  There  wras  no  adequate  provision  made 
for  foundlings,  who  were  therefore  left  to  neglect  and 
ruin,  or  were  killed  by  their  unnatural  parents.  He 
pleaded  their  cause  with  such  zeal  that  a  large  fund 
was  raised,  and  a  new  institution  opened  in  1640,  with 
the  direct  co-operation  of  the  king  and  his  court.  Dur 
ing  the  life  of  Vincent  it  remained  a  private  institu 
tion,  under  the  care  of  a  committee  of  ladies;  but  in 
1670  Louis  XIY.  converted  it  into  a  public  institution, 
and  transferred  it  to  the  Rue  de  Notre  Dame. 

In  the  latter  days  of  his  life  we  find  no  abatement  of 
his  zeal  and  energy.  He  still  gave  his  time  and  strength 
to  the  reformation  of  the  hospitals,  and  the  improve 
ment  of  the  condition  of  convicts.  Ifc  is  said  that  he 
once  put  himself  in  the  place  of  a  convict  more  unfor 
tunate  than  guilty,  and  bore  the  fetters  of  a  galley-slave 
for  several  weeks  before  he  was  recognized. 

During  the  wars  in  Lorraine,  and  the  famine  which 
followed,  he  collected,  among  pious  persons  at  Paris, 
nearly  two  million  livres,  that  is,  about  five  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  which  he  caused  to  be  distributed 
among  the  sufferers.  He  assisted  King  Louis  XIII. 
at  his  death,  and  was  appointed  by  the  queen  regent, 
Anne  of  Austria,  one  of  the  four  members  of  the  Coun 
cil  of  Conscience,  to  whom  was  committed  the  distribu- 


A  GOOD  AND  NOBLE  RECORD.        297 

tion  of  ecclesiastical  benefices.  The  last  labors  of  his 
life  were  the  foundation  of  an  asylum  for  aged  artisans 
of  both  sexes,  and  a  hospital  for  the  poor.  This  latter 
was  opened  in  1657,  and  the  Crown  obliged  the  beggars 
of  Paris  to  choose  between  entering  this  institution  or 
earning  their  living  by  such  labor  as  could  be  thrown 
into  their  hands. 

We  have  spoken  only  of  the  exterior  works  of  St.  Vin 
cent  de  Paul,  by  which  he  proved  the  power  of  God's 
spirit  within  him.  Time  would  fail  us  to  tell  of  the 
graces  of  his  interior  life,  of  his  great  humility,  ever  re 
nouncing  self,  of  his  spotless  purity,  of  his  uninter 
rupted  communion  with  God.  These  were  the  sources 
of  his  great  charities  which  the  world  has  seen  and 
admired.  He  ever  seemed  as  an  instrument  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  to  whom,  in  all  things,  he  referred  the 
praise  and  the  glory.  His  constitution,  naturally  ro 
bust,  was  impaired  by  his  great  fatigues  and  austerities. 
The  blessed  end  of  his  fruitful  life  drew  near.  In  his 
eightieth  year  he  was  seized  with  a  periodical  fever, 
which  gradually  exhausted  his  strength.  Yet  his  spir 
itual  exercises  were  never  interrupted.  After  passing 
sleepless  nights  of  pain,  he  never  failed  to  rise  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  to  spend  three  hours  in  prayer, 
to  celebrate  holy  mass,  and  to  exert  his  indefatigable 
zeal  in  the  exercise  of  charity  and  religion.  He  even 
redoubled  his  diligence  in  giving  instruction  to  his 
spiritual  children,  and  recited  every  day  the  prayers  of 
the  church  for  persons  in  their  agony,  with  other  acts 
preparatory  for  the  last  hour.  So,  at  a  full  age,  when 
four  score  and  five,  he  finished  his  glorious  course  on 
earth.  Having  received  the  last  sacraments,  and  spoken 
his  last  advice,  he  peacefully  expired  in  his  chair  on  the 
twenty-seventh  of  September,  1660.  Surely  we  may 


298        A  GOOD  AND  NOBLE  RECORD. 

apply  to  him  the  words  of  our  Lord,  and  conjecture  the 
acclaim  of  the  celestial  court  when  this  apostle  of  char 
ity  went  up  to  join  them  in  their  beatitude,  "  Come,  ye 
blessed  of  my  Father,  possess  the  kingdom  prepared  for 
you  from  the  foundation  of  the  world.  For  I  was  hun 
gry,  and  you  gave  Me  to  eat;  I  was  thirsty,  and  you 
gave  Me  to  drink;  I  was  a  stranger,  and  you  took  Me 
in;  naked,  and  you  clothed  Me;  sick  and  in  prison,  and 
you  visited  Me. — Amen,  I  say  to  you,  as  long  as  you  did 
it  to  one  of  these,  my  least  brethren,  you  did  it  to  Me." 


*  *  *  *  Your  polite  invitation,  to  contribute 
a  paper  for  a  projected  publication,  followed  me  from 
the  wilds  of  Nebraska  to  Baltimore,  where  ifc  was  re 
ceived  some  weeks  ago.  In  compliance  with  your 
request  for  so  worthy  an  object  as  that  which  you  pro 
pose,  I  soon  commenced  to  write  the  story  of  a  real 
character, — Eddy  Burgess,  or  the  boy-chief  of  the 
Pawnees,  now  a  member  of  my  dramatic  company. 
Since  then,  however,  numerous  engagements,  previous 
ly  made,  have  so  engrossed  whatever  little  leisure  I 
have  to  compose,  that  it  has  been  impossible  for  me  to 
finish  the  sketch  of  Eddy  Burgess  in  time  to  appear  in 
your  Christmas  volume  for  1878. 

Wishing  your  enterprise  every  success,  I  remain  sin 
cerely  yours. 

"BUFFALO  BILL."    (Wn.  F.  CODY.) 


LES  DANGERS  DU  TABAC.          299 


LES  DANGERS  DU  TABAC. 

BY  DR.  HIPPOLYTE  A.  DEPIERBIS. 

IL  y  a  comme  trois  cents  ans,  les  Indiens  qui  n'ont 
jamais  pardonne  aux  Europeens  1'invasion  de  leur  pays 
et  la  destruction  de  leur  race,  donnaient  auxEspagnols, 
leurs  premiers  envahisseurs,  dans  un  but  de  haine  et  de 
vengeance,  une  lierbe  dont  1'usage,  disaient-ils,  pre"- 
viendrait  et  gue'rirait  tous  leurs  maux.  C'e"tait  le  TABAC, 
qu'ils  idolatraient  sous  le  nom  de  grand  Manitou,  ou 
de  Genie  de  la  Mort,  car  ils  en  extrayaient  le  poison 
dont  ils  armaient  leurs  fleclies.  Ils  1'appelerent  alors 
CUBAKE,  mot  espagnol  qui  signifie  cure,  remede,  et 
par  extension,  panacee. 

Chez  les  sauvages  comme  parmi  les  civilises,  meme 
de  notre  temps,  les  bonnes  femmes  ont  toujours  eu  des 
secrets  pour  guerir;  et  c'etaient  elles  qui  se  chargeaient 
d'administrer  aux  Strangers  le  curare,  ou  la  cure,  comme 
devant  connaitre  mieux  qu'eux  les  maladies  du  pays  et 
les  moyens  de  les  traiter.  Les  malades  succombaient 
naturellement  sous  leurs  soins;  et  la  mort  effectuee  par 
la  vieille  empoisonneuse  ne  manquait  pas  d'etre  mise 
sur  le  compte  de  toutes  les  maladies  qui  paraissaient 
decimer  les  blancs,  dans  ces  nouvelles  contre'es;  tandis 
que  c'etait  la  pretendue  panache  qui  les  expediait  dans 
1'autre  vie.  C'etait  sous  sa  forme  vegetale  et  naturelle 
que  les  Indiens  employaient  le  tabac  dans  leur  me"di- 
cation  meurtriere  des  blancs.  Dans  toutes  leurs  maladies, 
c'etait  toujours  la  meme  plante  employee  par  toutes  les 
voies  et  sous  toutes  les  formes,  pour  arriver  plus  sure- 
ment  a  les  faire  pe"rir. 

Telle  est  1'origine  de  cette  fameuse  pauacde  indienne 
qui  fit  alternativement  Tengouement  et  la  reprobation 


300  LES    DANGERS     DU     TABAC. 

des  generations  qu'elle  a  traversees,  pour  arriver  jusqu'a 
nous. 

L'ambassadeur  Nicot  introduisit  en  France  la  plante 
miraculeuse,  dont  il  fit  liommage  a  Catherine  de  Medicis, 
sa  souveraine,  en  1560.  L'importation  du  Nouveau 
Monde,  d'un  remede  a  guerir  tous  les  maux,  produisit 
sur  la  vieille  Europe  ensevelie  dans  les  tenebres  de 
1'ignorance  et  de  la  superstition  du  Moyen  Age,  une  de 
ces  impressions  qui  sont  un  e've"nement  dans  1'liumanite. 
C'e"tait  un  bon  temps  pour  le  succes  de  la  panacee. 
Les  charlatans,  les  sorciers,  les  devins,  les  magiciens, 
les  astrologues,  tous  ces  exploiteurs  de  1'ignorance  hu- 
maine  elaient  en.  pleine  faveur,  tenant  boutique  ouverte 
a  toutes  les  superstitions.  L'arrive"e  du  tabac  fut  pour 
eux  une  bonne  fortune.  Les  effets  extraordinaires  et 
inconnus  de  cette  plante  sur  1'organisme  humain,  la  firent 
entrer  d'emblee  dans  la  me'decine  et  dans  toutes  les  sci 
ences  occultes  qui  tenaient  de  la  magie. 

Catherine  de  Me'dicis  qui  debutait  dans  sa  royale  car- 
riere,  recherchait  avec  affectation  tout  ce  qui  pouvait 
faire  parler  d'elle.  Fanatique  et  superstitieuse,  elle 
reva  de  gu6rir  tous  les  maux  par  sa  propre  puissance. 
Elle  s'appropria  la  plante  de  Nicot,  1'idole  des  sauvages 
du  Nouveau  Monde;  elle  lui  donna  sonuom,  Cathe"rinaire, 
Medicee,  Herbe  a  la  Heine,  avec  le  titre  pompeux  de 
Panache  Universelle;  et  Tintroduisit  dans  son  royaume 
sous  son  tout-puissant  patronage.  Elle  1'administra  en 
poudre,  par  le  nez,  a  Charles  IX.,  son  fils,  pour  purger 
les  humeurs  strumeuses  de  son  cerveau;  et,  a  1'exemple 
du  Roi,  tous  les  courtisans  et  les  hommes  de  bon  ton  se 
mirent  a  priser.  Soit  fanatisme  ou  mode,  1'usage  du 
tabac  parti  de  si  haut,  se  re"pandit  bientot  dans  tout  le 
monde  civilise. 

II  y  avait  de^a  bien  longtemps  que  Ton  prisait  pour 


LES    DANGERS    DU     TABAC.  301 

se  preserver  des  maladies  dont  le  point  do  depart,  au 
dire  de  la  science  d'alors,  e*tait  le  cerveau  qui  les  engen- 
drait  et  les  envoyait  sous  forme  d'e'manations  malsaines, 
a  tons  les  organes;  et  les  maladies  n'en  tourmentaient 
pas  moins  la  pauvre  humanite'.  Le  regne  du  tabac,  de- 
pouille*  de  son  prestige  de  panacde  et  abaisse  au  rang 
d'un  usage  malpropre,  semblait  pres  de  finir,  lorsque  les 
luttes  academiques  recommencerent  au  sujet  de  ses  ver- 
tus  curatives. 

— "Cen'estpas  par  le  cerveau,"  dirent  les  novateurs, 
"qu'il  faut  attaquer  les  maladies;  c'est  par  1'estomac. 
C'est  la  que  f ermentent  certaines  liumeurs,  r^sidu  impur 
de  la  digestion;  c'est  done  la  qu'il  faut  porter  le  correctif, 
la  panacee."  Alors  les  sectes  des  fumeurs  et  des 
chiqueurs  prirent  naissance,  dans  un  conflit  d'opinions 
les  plus  extravagantes.  Priseurs,  fumeurs,  chiqueurs, 
dans  leur  joie  de"bonnaire,  demandaient  au  tabac  a  les 
preserver  et  a  les  guerir  des  maladies,  lorsque  Ton 
decouvrit  dans  la  panacee  de  la  Heine,  non  pas  des 
vertus  curatives  mais  le  plus  meurtrier  des  poisons. 

En  1851,  la  science  et  la  justice  surprenaient  1'herbe 
a  Nicot  en  flagrant  delit  d'empoisonnement  et  de  crime. 

Bocarme,  un  beige  qui  avait  vecu  au  milieu  des  Tn- 
diens  et  qui  savait  qu'ils  employaient  leur  pre'tendue 
panacee,  leur  curare,  pour  faire  mourir  leurs  ennemis, 
s'en  servit  pour  tuer  son  beau-frere,  dont  il  convoitait 
I'heritage.  II  croyait  ecliapper  a  la  justice  en  employ- 
ant  un  poison  jusqu'alors  inconnu.  C'est  dans  ce  proces 
memorable  que  la  science  est  venue,  pour  la  premiere 
fois,  mettre  au  grand  jour  les  propiiete's  affreusement 
meurtrieres  du  tabac.  Elle  a  demontre  que  cette  plante, 
la  plus  veneneuse  que  Ton  connaisse,  contient  de  3  a  9 
pour  cent,  de  nicotine,  qui  tue  un  cheval  a  1'aide  d'un 
atome  introduit  dans  sa  chair  comme  le  ferait  la  fleche 


302  LES    DANGERS    DU    TABAC. 

de  ITndien,  ou  d'une  goutte  de'posee  sur  son  ceil. 
Apres  des  experiences  si  concluentes,  si  cette  longue 
question  du  tabac  n'a  pas  ete  definitivemerit  resolue,  si 
la  raison  ne  1'a  pas  bannie  de  nos  moeurs,  comme  1'avait 
faifc  pendant  pres  de  deux  siecles  une  legislation  severe 
qni  protegeait  les  societes  centre  son  envahissement, 
que  Ton  considerait  des  ce  temps-la  comme  fuueste; 
c'est  que  les  interets  de  la  speculation  aidant,  I'habitude 
et  1'amour-propre  ont  resiste  a  1'evidence.  Les  croyants 
aux  vertus  de  la  panacee,  n'ont  pas  voulu  reconnaitre 
qu'ils  etaient  les  dupes  des  malicieux  Indiens;  et,  pour 
braver  la  mystification,  ils  ont  dit: — "puisque  le  tabac 
ne  gue'rit  pas  les  maux  physiques,  il  doit  guerir  certaine- 
merit  les  maladies  morales,  le  desceuvrenient,  1'ennui" — 
et  c'est  aujourd'hui  la  seule  vertu  qu'on  cherche  a  lui 
reconnaitre. 

Et  ces  proprietes  nouvelles,  il  les  a  encore  usurpees, 
car  le  tabac  ne  distrait  pas,  il  ne  desennuie  pas;  il  assu- 
jetit,  au  contraire;  il  cree  des  besoins  facticesdontbien 
souvent  on  souffre,  quand  on  ne  peut  pas  les  satisfaire.  II 
ote  a  1'homme  la  sante  qui  est  le  premier  des  biens  con- 
tre  1'ennui;  il  communique  1'acrete  de  son  poison  a  sa 
nature  primitivement  laborieuse,  douce  et  bonne;  il  le 
rend  mou,  me'lancolique,  maniaque,  me'cbant,  ennuye  de 
tout,  fatigue  de  tout  excepte  du  tabac  lui-meme,  qui 
fait  presque  exclusivement  la  jouissance  de  sa  vie,  dont 
il  abrege  tou jours  le  terme,  sous  toutes  les  formes  de  la 
maladie  ou  de  1'epuisement. 

En  effet,  le  consommateur  de  tabac  use  la  partie  la 
plus  pure  de  ses  energies,  son  fluide  nerveux,  son  prin- 
cipe  vital,  a  lutter  centre  son  poison  qu'il  absorbe  tous 
les  jours,  et  dans  cette  lutte  incessante  il  s'affaisse  beau- 
coup  plus  vite  que  par  la  marche  reguliere  des  annees. 
De  la  viennent  la  vieillesse  pre'coce  et  la  mort  prema- 
turee. 


LES    DANGERS     DU    TABAC.  303 

Avant  la  domination  du  tabac  en  1825,  on  comptait 
en  France  plus  de  17,000  centenaires.  En  1876,  on 
n'en  recensaifc  plus  que  107.  Aussi  les  populations  di- 
minuent,  au  lieu  de  suivre  la  niarche  naturelle  et  ascen- 
dante  de  leur  accroissement. 

Voila  les  consequences  de  1'action  du  tabac  sur  la 
constitution  physique  de  I'liomme.  Voyons  ses  effets 
sur  son  intelligence  et  sur  son  sens  moral,  qui  sont  les 
manifestations  les  plus  nobles  de  son  arne. 

Si  1'ame,  comme  la  definit  la  philosophie,  est  urie  in 
telligence  servie  par  des  organes,  si  ces  organes  sont  en 
souffrance,  par  quelque  cause  que  ce  soit,  les  manifesta 
tions  de  Tame  seront  imparfaites;  1'intelligence  perdra 
de  sa  puissance  a  creer  la  pensee;  le  genie  lauguira  dans 
la  sterilite  efc  la  torpeur. 

Aujourd'liui,  que  toutes  les  classes  de  la  societe  sont 
envahies  par  la  passion  du  tabac,  I'humanite'  se  modifie 
en  mal,  par  la  continuation  du  narcotisme,  comme  les 
races  de'ge'nerent  par  le  climat.  Aussi,  est-ce  en  vain 
que  la  civilisation  et  les  progres  nous  eclairent,  1'in- 
struction,  les  arts,  la  religion,  etla  morale  cultivent  notre 
enfance;  nous  arrivons  a  Tadolescence,  a  la  puberte, 
avec  tous  les  germes  des  qualites  physiques  et  intellec- 
tuelles  qui  nous  permettraient  par  leur  cleveloppement, 
d'atteindre  a  1'apogee  de  notre  existence  d'hommes; 
mais  a  1'entree  de  la  carriere,  1'ignorance  du  mal,  le 
demon  de  la  tentation,  et  la  contagion  de  1'exemple  nous 
livrent  sans  expedience  a  la  seduction  du  tabac. 

Alors  toutes  ces  energies  qui  naissent  de  notre  jeune 
organisme  comme  des  rayons  de  lumiere  et  de  vie,  tous 
ces  enthousiasmes  pour  le  beau,  le  grand,  le  vrai,  qui 
cre'ent  1'art,  la  litterature  et  la  science,  tout  languit  et 
s'etiole  dans  les  lourdes  vapeurs  du  nicotisme.  II  ne 
nous  laisse  plus  au  cerveau  que  1'engourdissement,  1'im- 
puissance  ou  le  delire;  la  secheresse  au  coeur. 


804         LES  DANGERS  DU  TABAC. 

Des  observations  recentes,  faites  a  1'Ecole  Polytech- 
nique  de  France,  ont  constate  que  sur  cent  soixante 
eleves,  cent  vingt  fumaient.  Les  eleves  non-fumeurs 
ont  eu  dans  1'ordre  de  promotion  un  rang  bien  plus 
elevo  que  les  f urneurs  qui  croient  que  le  cigare  donne  un 
cachet  plus  viril  a  Tepee.  Des  eleves,  entres  a  1'ecoleavec 
les  premiers  numeros  ont  perdu,  en  devenant  fumeurs, 
toute  leur  superiorite,  et  sont  descendus  dans  la  cate- 
gorie  des  incapables  refuses  qui,  presque  tous,  sont  con- 
sommateurs  de  tabac. 

Si,  sous  I'influence  du  tabac,  1'intelligence  a  ses  fai- 
blesses  d'ou  naissent  les  hallucinations  et  la  folie  dont 
les  victimes  encombrent  partout  les  etablissements 
d'alienes,  le  sens  moral  qui  est  le  couronnement  de 
toutes  les  perfections  humaines,  1'emanation  la  plus 
subtile  de  notre  organisme,  n'est  pas  exempt  des  at- 
teiutes  pervertives  du  nicotisme. 

Le  sens  moral  est  cette  faculte  qu'a  riiomme  de  dis- 
tinguer  le  bien  du  mal.  Elle  le  porte  a  aimer  1'un  et  a 
detester  1'autre.  C'est  du  sens  moral  que  decoulent 
toutes  nos  qualites  sociables,  la  justice,  la  douceur,  la 
cl^mence,  la  charite. 

Un  des  effets  les  plus  constants  de  1'ivresse  nicoti- 
neuse  est  d'assombrir  le  caractere  de  1'homme.  Elle 
fane  la  fraicheur  de  sa  jeunesse  en  intervertissant  en 
lui,  par  une  sorte  d'aberration,  toutes  les  aspirations 
du  sens  moral.  Elle  substitue,  par  exemple,  la  haine  a 
1'amour,  Tegoisme  a  la  ge'nerosite,  la  rancune  a  la 
cl^mence;  elle  e"gare  la  raison  dans  le  discernement  du 
bieu  et  du  mal  et  fait  que,  dans  son  caprice,  elle  prend 
sou  vent  1'un  pour  1'autre. 

C'est  par  alteration  du  sens  moral,  sous  1'influence 
enivrante  du  tabac,  que  1'homme  sent  s'e'teiudre  en  lui 
les  aspirations  a  la  vie,  qui  sont  si  imperieuses  chez 
tous  les  eleves.  Aimer  la  vie,  se  cramponner  a  toutes 


LES    DANGERS    DU    TABAC.  305 

ses  asperite's,  a  toutes  ses  amertumes,  c'est  la  loi  natu- 
relle.  Mais  sous  I'age  dii  tabac,  1'liommo  engourdi  dans 
la  vie  semble  insensible  a  ses  jouissances:  tout  lui 
pese,  tout  I'eimuie.  Sans  affection  pour  qui  que  ce  soit, 
il  tombe  dans  le  de'couragement  et  1'liypocondrie;  il  ne 
tient  plus  a  rien,  pas  meme  a  lui;  et  un  beau  jour,  sans 
raisons,  ineme  quand  il  a  tout  ce  que  tant  d'autres  lui 
envieraient  pour  les  rendre  lieureux,  la  famille,  le 
rang,  la  fortune, — il  se  tue 

Efc  la  statistique  nous  demontre  que  le  nombre  des 
suicides  grandit  regulierement  avec  1'augmentation  de 
la  consommation  du  tabac. 

C'est  avec  la  meme  regularity  que  grandissent  aussi 
les  instincts  criminels.  Et  quand  les  moralistes,  les 
legislateurs,  les  magistrats  se  demandent  quelles  causes 
myste'rieuses  poussent  aux  plus  horribles  crimes  tant 
cVhommes  que  1'e'ducation.  a  formes  et  qui  sortent  de 
toutes  les  classes  de  la  socie'te,  la  seule  raison  que 
Ton  puisse  dormer  a  toutes  ces  anomalies  qui  desolent 
autant  qu'elles  deshonorent  notrc  epoque,  c'est  que  tous 
ces  criminels  out  ete  depossedes  du  sens  Immain  par 
1'effet  degradant  du  tabac  sur  leur  cerveau. 

A.vant  d'arriver  a  ces  degres  extremes  de  1'alienation 
de  1'intelligence  et  du  sens  moral,  les  sujets  qui  sont 
profondernent  sous  1'influence  du  tabac, passent  par  une 
serie  d'etats  nerveux  que  remarquent  aisement  tous 
ceux  qui  les  entourent. 

La  pathologie  moderne  qui  enregistre  toutes  ces 
anomalies  inconnues  autrefois,  les  designe  sous  le  nom 
de  nevrosisme,  etat  nerveux,  nevropathie  proteiforme. 
Le  ne'vrosisme  est  moins  aigu  que  chronique;  il  varie 
entre  1'agaceinent  nerveux  qui  en  est  le  premier  symp- 
tome,  jusqu'aux  desordres  fonctionnels  les  plus  nom- 
breux  et  les  plus  graves. 

C'est  1'inquietude  et  1'impatience  morale,  la  fatigue 
20 


306  LES    DANGERS    DU    TABAC. 

de  tout;  ce  sont  les  palpitations,  la  toux  nerveuse,  les 
hallucinations,  la  frayeur.  Elles  font  du  malheureux 
nicotine  non  seulement  un  hypocondriaque,  mais  encore 
nn  hysterique;  car  il  a  tous  les  symptomes  qui  consti 
tuent  cet  6" tat  maladif  qui  n'appartient  qu'a  la  femme, 
et  qui  s'appelle  aussi  cliez  elle  crise  de  nerfs,  vapeurs. 

Le  Docteur  Weir  Mitchell,  dans  sa  clinique  sur  les 
maladies  nerveuses  dont  il  est  specialement  charge  a 
1'hopital  de  Philadelphie,  reconnait  que  ces  affections, 
que  ne  rnentiomient  pas  assez  les  traites  de  pathologie, 
deviennent  de  plus  en  plus  frequentes  et  que,  contraire- 
ment  a  ce  qui  devrait  exister,  elles  soiit  infiniment  plus 
nombreuses  chez  1'homme  que  chez  la  femme;  et,  comme 
nous,  il  n'hesite  pas  a  en  attribuer  la  cause  la  plus 
directe  aux  effets  du  tabac  dont  les  dames,  surtout  les 
Americaines,  out  assez  de  bon  gout  et  de  raison  pour  ne 
pas  user,  sous  aucune  forme. 

Avec  une  action  si  perturbatrice  sur  1'organisme  des 
liommes,  le  tabac  re"agira  forcement,  par  voie  de  dege- 
ne"rescence,  sur  leur  progeniture.  Car  la  raisou  et 
1'expe'rience  attestent  qu'un  homme  altere  dans  ses 
facultes  physiques  et  morales,  ne  peut  pas  donner  la 
vie  a  des  enfants  aussi  parfaits  que  s'il  etait  parfait 
lui-meme.  Et  c'est  la  une  des  principales  causes  de  la 
dege'nereseence  et  de  la  depopulation  des  pays  ou.  les 
enfants  naissent  dans  des  conditions  de  faiblesse  si 
marquee  qu'ils  deviennent,  comme  leurs  peres,  incapa- 
bles  de  poursuivre  une  longue  carriere. 

Ceux  qui  echappent  a  la  mortality  excessive  du  pre 
mier  age,  n'ont  pas  cette  vigueur  de  corps  et  d'esprit  que 
Ton  trouve  dans  le  type  humain  parfait.  Us  sont  ra- 
bougris,  chetifs,  peu  susceptibles  de  profiter  des  bien- 
faits  de  1'e'ducation,  comme  les  races  qui  degenerent. 

Aujourd'hui,  plus  nous  prenons  de  soins  a  instruire  et 
a  moraliser  la  jeunesse,  plus  nous  trouvons  dans  iios 


LES    DANGERS    DU    TABAC.  307 

ecoles  des  sujets  refractaires  a  toute  education.  A  cote 
des  e'leves  qui  travaillent  avec  succes  et  qui  apportent 
a  la  societe  tons  les  benefices  de  la  culture  de  leur  in 
telligence,  il  en  est  une  quantite'  considerable  qui  ont 
de  1'aversion  pour  1 'etude,  tout  ce  qui  est  travail  les 
irrite.  Us  ne  recherchent  que  la  liberte  et  1'independ- 
ance;  et  impuissants  a  se  creer  lionnetement  des  moyens 
d'existence,  ils  se  jettent  par  bandes  dans  le  vagabond 
age,  la  mendicite,  le  vol. 

Ce  sont  ces  bandes  qui  tiennent  constamment  en 
echec  la  police  des  gran  des  villes,  et  que  Ton  design© 
en  Californie  sous  le  norn  collectif  de  Hoodlums.  Ils 
sont  la  pepiniere  d'ou  sortent  toutes  les  categories  de 
inalfaiteurs  adultes  qui  deshonorent  notre  epoque.  Ils 
alimentent  les  tribunaux  d'une  clientelle  spe'ciale  de 
criminels  de  quatorze  a  dix-huit  ans,  qui  viennent 
effronteinent  demander  a  la  justice  le  benefice  de  la  loi, 
pour  marque  de  discernement  dans  Faccornplissement 
de  leurs  mefaits  qu'ils  ont  souvent  longuement  me'dites 
avant  de  s'eii  rendre  coupables. 

Ce  de'bordemeut  de  criminalite,  aux  Etats-Unis,  est 
une  anomalie  toute  moderne  qui  ii'est  pas  sans  frapper 
1'attention  des  liommes  serieux,  habitues  a  voir  la  jeu- 
nesse  grandir  par  la  liberte  dans  la  moralite  et  la  sci 
ence.  Souvent  les  magistrats  de  la  justice  ont  signale 
a  1'administratiou  superieure  cet  evenement  comme  un 
danger  social  contre  lequel  il  importait  d'aviser. 

Et,  quand  on  avisera,  ne  pouvant  trouver  la  cause  du 
mal  dans  des  institutions  politiques  et  sociales  qui,  de- 
puis  un  siecle,  ont  ameliore  les  liommes  au  lieu  de  les 
faire  dechoir,  on  en  viendra,  comme  nousle  faisons  nous- 
memes,  a  en  accuser  le  tabac  d'abord  et,  en  second  lieu 
1'Alcool  qui  est  le  complice  natural,  inevitable  de  I'ceuvre 
de  degradation  que  le  poison  des  Caraibes  poursuivra 
sur  rhumanite  partout  ou  elle  aura  ete  assez  faible  pour 
se  laisser  seduire  par  sa 


308  WATCHWORDS     OF    LIFE. 


WATCHWOEDS  OF  LIFE. 

BY  REV.  DR.  WILLIAM  H.  PLATT. 

HOPE, 
"While  there's  a  hand  to  strike! 

DARE, 
"While  there  's  a  3'oung  heart  brave ! 

TOIL, 
While  there  's  a  task  unwrought! 

TRUST, 
"While  there 's  a  God  to  save ! 

LEARN 
That  there  's  a  work  for  each ! 

FEEL 
That  there 's  a  strength  in  God ! 

KNOW 
That  there's  a  crown  reserved! 

WAIT, 
Though  'neath  the  cloud  and  rod! 

LOVE, 
While  there 's  a  foe  that  wrongs! 

HELP, 
When  there's  a  brother's  need! 

WATCH, 
When  there's  a  tempter  near! 

PRAY, 
Both  in  thy  word  and  deed! 


THE    YEAR    OF    THE    CHURCH.  309 


THE  YEAK  OF  THE  CHUECH. 

BY  MRS.  MARY  A.  SADLIER. 

To  Catholics  who  like  to  follow  the  path  of  life 
marked  out  for  them  by  their  mother,  the  Church,  how 
far  different  is  the  year's  long  round  from  that  of  the 
outside  world!  To  them  the  year  is  something  more 
than  a  space  of  time  during  which  our  planet  turns  so 
many  times  upon  its  axis,  bringing  day  and  night,  and 
the  four  seasons,  in  due  succession.  To  them  each  day, 
as  it  comes  and  goes,  is  a  living  reality,  an  ever-welcome 
presence,  endowed  with  a  distinctive  character,  a  pecu 
liar  meaning. 

To  the  true  child  of  the  Church  the  year,  in  its  pas 
sage,  presents  a  grand  and  ever-present  record  of  the 
great  mysteries  of  religion,  the  sublime  truths  of  faith. 
It  reminds  him  from  day  to  day  of  God, — of  Jesus 
Christ, — of  His  Blessed  Mother, — of  His  saints, — of 
His  holy  angels, — of  the  whole  vast  scheme  of  redemp 
tion,  the  communion  of  saints,  and  the  eternal  relations 
existing  between  the  Creator  and  His  creature,  man. 

In  the  Catholic  year,  the  whole  history  of  the  church 
is  epitomised  and  the  wonderful  dealings  of  God  with 
men  made  manifest.  It  is  a  book  written,  as  it  were,  by 
the  Church  herself,  setting  forth  from  age  to  age,  to  all 
the  generations  of  mankind,  the  great  things  which  God 
has  done  for  His  people,  the  eternal  love  wherewith  He 
has  loved  them,  the  marvels  of  His  grace  in  the  saints 
who  reign  with  Him  in  heaven,  and  the  glorious  destiny 
awaiting  all  who  are  willing  to  serve  Him  in  the  days  of 
their  mortal  pilgrimage.  It  is,  so  to  say,  a  compendium 
of  the  history  of  the  Bible  and  the  lives  of  the  saints, 
presented  in  the  simplest  form,  yet  speaking  a  lan 
guage  indicative  of  its  divine  origin. 


310        THE  YEAR  OF  THE  CHURCH. 

Into  the  twelve  calendar  months,  what  a  mighty  world 
of  action — what  a  lofty  range  of  ideas — what  a  glorious 
epic  has  the  divine  wisdom  of  the  Church  compressed! 
And  this  grandest  of  epics  is  subdivided  into  three,  or 
rather  four,  distinct  parts.  One  of  these  relates  to 
every  age,  to  each  succeeding  generation  of  men  the 
wondrous  story  of  Christ's  birth,  life,  death,  resurrec 
tion  and  ascension.  The  second  part  treats  of  the 
beautiful  life,  and  the  all  but  superhuman  virtues  of  the 
Virgin  of  prophecy,  the  ever-blessed  Mother  of  God; 
her  sufferings,  her  sorrows,  her  joys,  her  triumphs,  her 
eternal  glory  in  the  kingdom  of  her  Son. 

The  third  part  of  this  great  dramatic  poem,  which 
the  Church  places  year  after  year  before  her  children, 
shows  forth  the  wonders  of  God  in  His  saints,  what  they 
did  and  what  they  suffered,  one  and  all,  for  and  through 
Him  whose  grace  strengthened  and  supported  them  in 
the  midst  of  trials  and  temptations  which  ordinary 
mortals  are  seldom  called  to  meet  or  to  bear. 

The  fourth  and  last  part  of  this  sublime  epic  relates 
to  the  angels  of  God;  those  bright  intelligences  who 
have  never  lost  the  pristine  glory  of  their  creation — 
those  myriads  of  heavenly  spirits  who  form  the  army  of 
the  Great  King,  His  ministers  for  ever  and  ever — those 
faithful  guardians  whom  He,  in  His  infinite  mercy,  has 
appointed  for  every  creature  born  of  Adam's  race. 

Again,  we  may  liken  the  year  of  the  Church  to  the 
planetary  system  of  the  universe,  in  which  the  stars  of 
the  first  magnitude  are  represented  by  the  festivals  of 
our  Lord — the  second,  by  those  of  His  holy  mother  and 
her  glorious  spouse,  St.  Joseph;  while  the  feasts  of  the 
saints  and  the  holy  angels  are  as  the  countless  stars 
of  lesser  magnitude  rolling  in  the  measureless  realms 
of  space. 


THE    YEAE    OF    THE    CHURCH.  311 

Each  of  the  four  seasons  of  the  year  brings  its  own 
bright  series  of  triple  festivals,  consecrating  each  by  a 
threefold  consecration  to  God,  the  Author  and  Father 
of  time,  His  angels  and  his  saints. 

Spring  comes  in  her  balmy  freshness,  clothing  the 
earth  with  verdure  and  with  beauty,  awakening  all  na 
ture  to  life  and  joy.  Summer  appears  in  due  time,  and 
clothes  the  earth  in  a  regal  mantle  of  gorgeous  light  and 
color.  Autumn,  in  turn,  reigns  as  queen,  with  her 
mellow  hues,  her  many-tinted  fruits,  her  purple  twi 
lights,  her  changing  woods.  And  winter  comes  at  last, 
with  rushing  streams  and  storm -tossed  woods  and 
pelting  rain,  shrouding  the  beautiful  earth  in  the 
mournful  garb  of  death.  Yet,  amid  all  these  changes  of 
the  outer  world,  the  Church  goes  calmly  on  her  way, 
turning  over,  day  by  day,  a  leaf  of  her  wonderful  lit 
urgy,  and  pointing  with  a  finger  of  light  to  some  mys 
tery  of  religion — some  scene  or  event  in  the  mortal  life 
of  the  Saviour  of  men — or  the  acts  of  some  hero  or 
heroine  of  the  cross  long  since  beatified  in  heaven. 

The  early  dawn  of  the  summer  morning  and  the  first 
tardy  beam  that  struggles  through  the  lowering  sky  of 
winter,  find  the  minister  of  the  Catholic  Church  at  her 
lighted  altar,  offering  up  to  the  majesty  of  God,  "from 
the  rising  to  the  setting  of  the  sun,"  the  clean  oblation 
foretold  by  Malachy  the  prophet,  in  union  with  the 
appointed  office  of  the  day. 

When  we  consider  this  as  going  on  not  only  every 
day  in  the  year,  but  all  the  day  long,  in  the  various  re 
gions  of  the  earth,  as  the  planet  slowly  turns  on  her 
axis,  we  shall  be  able  to  form  some  idea  of  the  wonder 
ful  perpetuity  and  continuity  of  Catholic  worship,  of 
what  is  meant  by  "  The  year  of  the  Church." 

This,  as  regards  time.     Now  let  us  consider,  in  some- 


312         THE  YEAH  OF  THE  CHURCH. 

thing  like  detail,  what  the  Church  honors  with  a  special 
honor  in  her  sacred  liturgy  during  the  year.  She  honors, 
first  and  above  all,  the  holy  and  undivided  Trinity, 
Father,  Son  and  Holy  Ghost,  the  beginning  and  end  of 
all  things,  the  basis  of  all  religion.  Then  the  most  sa 
cred  heart  of  Jesus;  His  birth,  His  circumcision,  His 
presentation  in  the  temple,  His  mysterious  fast  of  forty 
days  in  the  desert,  His  triumphal  entry  into  Jerusalem 
on  Palm-Sunday,  the  sufferings  of  His  passion  in  all 
their  dread  details,  His  death  on  the  cruel  cross,  the 
cross  itself,  His  three  days'  rest  in  the  holy  sepulchre, 
His  triumphant  resurrection  on  Easter  morn,  Hisglorious 
ascension,  and,  finally,  His  most  solemn  institution  of 
the  sacrament  of  the  Eucharist,  whereby  He  bequeathed 
to  His  Church  and  her  children,  for  all  time,  the  soul- 
nourishing  food  of  His  own  most  sacred  body  and  blood. 

Is  ifc  not  true  to  say,  that  the  year  of  the  Church 
takes  in  the  whole  vast  scheme  of  redemption,  and  all 
its  ever-living,  ever-present  effects;  embraces  within  its 
revolving  circle  the  grandest  range  of  ideas,  the  highest 
and  mightiest  achievements  ever  wrought  on  earth,  the 
most  marvelous  events  in  the  history  of  mankind? 

Every  day  that  passes  presents  a  new  phase  of  this 
wondrous  story — new,  and  yefc  old,  as  old  as  creation. 
And  so  it  will  go  on,  this  glorious  epic,  this  magnifi 
cent  drama,  till  the  last  sun  of  time  shall  rise  upon  the 
earth;  till  the  last  mass  is  said,  the  last  Eucharistic 
sacrifice  consummated  on  the  lasfc  of  days,  when  the 
Church  shall  have  chanted  her  last  office  and  closed  for 
ever  the  volume  of  her  divine  liturgy — that  volume  which 
has  been  for  nigh  two  thousand  years  the  book  of  the 
nations. 

But  the  grandeur,  the  immensity  of  the  Catholic  year, 
as  regards  the  nature  of  the  festivals  it  celebrates,  is 


THE    YEAR    OF    THE    CHURCH.  313 

immeasurably  enhanced,  if  that  were  possible,  by  the 
boundless  extent  of  her  territory,  on  which,  truly  and 
indeed,  the  sun  never  sets.  "  From  Indus  to  the  pole," 
from  Kamtchatka  to  Chile,  from  Paris  to  Pekin;  over 
every  continent,  in  the  isles  of  every  ocean,  by  sea  and 
river  and  lake;  from  the  mountain-top  and  the  valley's 
depth,  from  the  desert's  arid  waste  and  the  forest's  green 
recesses;  from  all  the  surface  of  the  earth,  from  all  her 
tribes  and  peoples,  go  up  at  every  hour  the  prayers  of 
the  Church,  her  holy  hymns,  her  sacred  chants,  as  she 
passes  in  succession  through  the  different  phases  of  her 
grand  martyrology. 

Furthermore,  how  astonishingly  varied  are  the  cir 
cumstances  under  which  her  holy  feasts  are  solemnized! 
From  the  "  dim  and  mighty  minster  of  old  time," 

" shadowy  with  remembrance 

Of  the  majestic  past/' 

wherein  emperors  or  kings  have  worshipped  for  ages, 
at  whose  altar  mitred  prelates  officiate,  surrounded  with 
all  the  dazzling  pomp  of  the  grandest  of  rituals;  to  the 
rude  log-cabin  in  the  woods  of  the  New  World,  reared 
by  the  patient  hands  of  the  hardy  settler  from  beyond 
the  seas,  or  the  newly-converted  from  the  heathen — the 
very  vestments  of  the  humble  missionary  being  the  gift  of 
charity — through  all  the  degrees  of  ritualistic  solemnity 
between  these  so  opposite  extremes,  how  wonderful  is 
the  picture  presented  to  the  eye  of  faith  by  the  feasts 
and  fasts  of  the  year  of  the  Church ! 

The  year  of  the  Church!  what  a  circle  to  follow 
on  its  never-ceasing  round!  It  is  the  year  of  the 
Triune  God — the  year  of  the  world's  Eedeemer — it 
is  the  year  of  St.  Joseph,  the  glorious  carpenter 
of  Nazareth,  the  guardian  of  Jesus  and  Mary;  it  is 


314         THE  YEAR  OF  THE  CHUECH. 

the  year  of  the  prophets  and  the  apostles,  of  the  mar 
tyrs,  of  the  confessors,  of  the  virgins,  the  year  of  all 
the  saints;  it  is  the  year  of  the  angels  and  archangels; 
it  is  the  year  of  the  whole  heavenly  court,  whose  hymns 
of  praise  it  echoes  and  prolongs  on  earth,  in  whose 
homage,  whose  adoration,  it  joins  at  every  moment  of 
the  day  and  night,  merging  the  time  of  our  earth's  ex 
istence  in  the  limitless  grandeur  of  the  eternal  years! 

Finally,  the  year  of  the  Church  is  the  year  of  Chris 
tian  art,  furnishing  the  noblest  themes,  the  highest  in 
spiration,  for  painting,  for  sculpture,  for  architecture, 
for  music,  for  poetry. 

Michael  Angelo  and  Raphael,  and  Fra  Bartolomeo, 
and  Rubens  and  Murillo,  and  all  the  great  masters  of 
the  pencil  and  the  brush,  have  left  us  on  wall  and  can 
vas  the  wonders  of  the  Christian  year,  the  year  of  the 
Church;  the  greatest  of  sculptors  of  Christian  ages  have 
carved  them  in  stone  and  cast  them  in  bronze,  in  gold, 
and  in  silver;  Beethoven  and  Haydn  and  Handel,  Mo 
zart  and  Mendelssohn  and  Mercadante,  Rossini  and 
Cherubini,  have  breathed  its  divine  inspiration  into 
strains  of  wondrous  harmony  that  will  live  as  long  as 
the  world;  and  Dante  and  Calderon  and  many  another 
prince  of  song  have  chanted  in  the  ear  of  time  the  lays 
of  the  Christian  year,  of  that  true  Divina  Comedia,  in 
numbers  of  surpassing  grandeur  that  have  echoed  and 
will  echo  through  all  the  ages. 

And  architecture — the  poetry  of  stone, — who  knows 
not  how  the  year  of  the  Church,  her  glorious  marfcyr- 
ology  and  her  wonderful  rubric,  have  enriched  the  world 
with  the  grandest  triumphs  ever  achieved  by  this  most 
noble  art,  with  structures  that  rival  the  ancient  hills  in 
solidity,  and  have  lent  new  grace  and  dignity  and  beauty 
to  this  fair  world  of  ours,  exciting  the  wonder  and  the 
admiration  of  men  in  all  succeeding  ages! 


AS    THE    SEASONS    COME    AND    GO.  315 

The  arts  may  truly  be  called,  as  they  have  been 
called,  the  handmaids  of  religion,  and  being  so,  they 
are  all  most  intimately  connected  with  the  grand  epic 
of  our  martyrology,  most  wonderfully  intertwined  and 
associated  with  the  year  of  the  Church.  With  it  they 
go  hand  in  hand  through  the  whole  world,  refining, 
purifying,  ennobling  man,  raising  his  thoughts  and  his 
hopes  above  the  passing  things  of  time,  and  fixing  them 
on  the  great,  the  solemn  truths  of  eternity.  Such 
should  be  the  office,  the  end  and  aim  of  Christian  art, 
as  it  is  the  office,  the  end  and  the  aim  of  the  year  of  the 
Church. 


AS  THE  SEASONS  COME  AND  GO. 

BY  ALBERT  PIKE. 
THE  fresh  young-  leaves  are  coming,  dear! 

In  the  genial  prime  of  May; 
And  the  bees  in  the  blooms  are  humming,  dear! 

And  the  world  is  glad  and  gay; 
Is  gay  and  glad,  in  the  ripe  bright  Spring, 

Forgetting  the  Winter-snow; 
But  Winter  again  the  snows  must  bring, 

As  the  Seasons  ebb  and  flow; 
And  so  the  world  goes  round  in  a  ring, 

As  the  Seasons  come  and  go. 

As  the  Seasons  come  and  go,  and  the  years 

One  after  another  die, 
With  wan,  sad  faces  wet  with  tears, 

And  the  laugh  that  ends  in  a  sigh : 
In  a  sigh — and,  sighing,  our  hopes  and  joys 

Pace  after  them,  sad  and  slow; 
With  our  manhood's  baubles  find  childhood's  toys, 

As  the  Seasons  ebb  and  flow; 
Leaving  us  only  the  pleasure  that  cloys, 

As  the  Seasons  come  and  go. 


316  AS    THE    SEASONS    COME    AND    GO. 

The  lads  are  the  fair  girls  wooing,  dear! 

In  the  rath,  glad  days  of  Spring, 
And  the  greybeards  for  young  loves  suing,  dear! 

While  thrushes,  mating,  sing. 
They  are  wise, — for  the  young  grow  old  and  grey, 

And  Time  is  a  fair  girl's  foe; 
And  maids  are  fickle,  and  men  will  stray, 

As  the  Seasons  ebb  and  flow; 
For  Love's  Forever  is  but  a  day, 

As  the  Seasons  come  and  go. 

In  the  new  Love's  lap  all  the  old  are  forgot, 

When  the  mouth  new  kisses  craves; 
They  are  gone,  like  players  remembered  not, 

One  after  one,  like  the  waves: 
On  the  dead  Loves'  ashes  the  live  Loves  tread, 

And  into  its  fires  we  throw 
The  false  girl's  picture,  the  tress  of  the  dead, 

As  the  Seasons  ebb  and  flow; 
Forgetting  the  once-sweet  lips  so  red, 

As  the  Seasons  come  and  go. 

No !  no ! — there  were  Loves  we  cannot  forget, 

Charming  faces,  forever  dear; 
Sweet  lips,  with  whose  kissing  ours  tingle  yet, 

Loving  words  we  shall  always  hear; 
Eyes  that  we  always  shall  look  into, 

Whether  they  love  us  or  no; 
Adorations  immortal,  tender  and  true, 

Though  the  Seasons  ebb  and  flow; 
Immortal,  O  darling!  as  mine  for  you, 

While  the  Seasons  come  and  go. 


COMMON    SENSE.  317 


COMMON    SENSE. 

BY  FREDERIC  SAUNDERS. 

METAPHYSICIANS  and  philosophers  differ  somewhat  in 
their  definitions  of  the  good  genius,  familiarly  known  to 
us  as  Common  Sense.  It  may  seem  strange  that  such 
learned  authorities  as  Dugald  Stewart,  Newton,  Locke, 
Reed,  Berkeley,  DesCartes,  with  some  others,  should 
have  deemed  it  necessary  to  discuss  a  subject  of  such 
self-evident  import.  Our  lexicographer,  Worcester, 
gives  the  following  explanation  of  the  phrase:  "The 
natural  understanding  or  sagacity  of  mankind  in  general, 
in  contradistinction  to  the  endowments  of  genius  or  the 
requisitions  of  learning,  which  are  possessed  by  com 
paratively  few;  good  sense  in  relation  to  common 
things."  From  this  definition  no  one  will  dissent,  but 
it  seems  to  take  for  granted  that  all  who  are  not  espec 
ially  endowed  with  the  higher  gifts,  have  an  intuitive 
possession  of  common  sense, — a  conclusion  far  from  be 
ing  sustained  by  human  experience.  Coleridge  some 
where  said,  in  effect,  that  thinking  is  a  crime  of  which 
men  in  general  are  especially  innocent.  Although 
common  sense  may  be  an  intuitive  faculty,  its  exercise 
certainly  involves  thinking.  Common  sense  is  an  en 
dowment  which  cannot,  therefore,  be  predicated  of  all 
who  are  without  the  higher  gifts  of  genius,  although 
in  the  majority  of  instances  it  may.  On  the  other  hand, 
while  it  may  be  on  the  side  of  popular  belief  that 
learning  and  common  sense  are  generally  to  be  found 
in  friendly  alliance,  yet  it  is  not  safe  always  to  admit 
the  validity  of  the  proposition.  That  the  faculty  may 
be  strengthened  and  improved  in  proportion  as  the 
mind  can  bring  at  once  under  its  review  a  larger  num- 


318  COMMON    SENSE. 

ber  of  ideas,  and  determine  their  accordance  or  dis 
agreement,  will  be  self-evident.  "Were  we  to  reason 
over  every  premeditated  act,  liow  slow  would  be  our 
progress!  how  many  of  life's  great  aims  would  be  unat- 
tained !  Nor  are  we  yet  to  abandon  our  reasoning  fac 
ulty,  but  to  use  it  in  connection  with  the  safe  sugges 
tions  of  common  sense.  Its  decisions,  without  very 
formal  process  of  deduction,  are  often  more  accurate 
than  those  reached  by  an  elaborate  system  of  reasoning. 
Common  sense  is  primarily  devoted  to  the  practical  af 
fairs  of  life,  and  whenever  its  plain  dictates  are  dis 
regarded,  the  penalty  is  inevitable.  It  has  been  well 
said, 

"  Some  men  go  wrong  with  an  ingenious  skill; 
Bend  the  strict  rule  to  their  own  crooked  will; 
"While  with  a  clear  and  shining  lamp  supplied, 
First  put  it  out,  then  take  it  for  a  guide." 

Common  sense  may  be  styled  the  balance-wheel  of  the 
mind,  keeping  it  in  proper  working  order.  It  is  equally 
important,  as  it  is  equally  available,  to  rich  and  poor, 
the  learned  arid  the  uncultivated;  and  none  may  ignore 
its  teachings  with  impunity.  Its  possession  is,  there 
fore,  essential  as  well  to  the  happiness  of  society  as  to 
its  individual  members.  It  is  to  humanity  what  in 
stinct  is  to  the  animal  creation.  To  cite  the  words  of  a 
recent  essayist  in  the  "Saturday  Review,"  we  might  add 
that,  "To  know  what  we  are  and  what  we  are  designed 
for;  to  know  what  to  do,  and  when  and  where  and  how 
to  do  it;  to  know  what  to  expect  and  the  means  to  be 
used  to  realize  it — are  some  of  the  main  offices  of  com 
mon  sense.  It  is  the  union  of  all  the  faculties,  in  obe 
dient  and  contented  service  to  the  fixed  laws  of  human 
existence."  Thus  it  is  apparent  that  discretion,  merely, 
is  not  common  sense.  Men  may  acquire  the  former, 


COMMON    SENSE.  319 

but  the  latter  is  more  of  an  instinctive  or  intuitive  fac 
ulty.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  its  possession  is  less 
frequently  found  in  those  who  master  their  speculative 
difficulties,  than  in  those  who  are  never  visited  by  such 
difficulties,  but  who  take  the  gift  of  life  as  it  is  and 
adapt  themselves  to  it.  It  has  been  well  said  that  com 
mon  sense  is  "the  indispensable  interpreter,  the  one 
commentator,  without  which  no  doctrine  can  hold  its 
right  place,  no  teaching  convey  its  true  meaning,  no 
just  inference  be  drawn,  no  wholesome  lessons  be  gath 
ered.  It  is  the  guardian  of  the  mind;  mere  intel 
lect  without  it  is  like  a  ship  without  a  rudder  or  a 
compass." 

Common  sense,  therefore,  would  seem  to  be  a  sine 
qua  non;  yet  how  many  persons  go  through  life  not 
caring  for  its  possession.  In  every  department  of  so 
ciety  we  see  illustrations  of  the  follies — serious  and 
comic — which  such  neglect  engenders.  For  example, 
how  often  may  be  seen  among  the  butterflies  of  fashion 
instances  of  the  grotesque  and  absurd  in  costume,  in 
extreme  contrast  with  common  sense  and  true  taste! 
Some  vapid  and  silly  persons  seem,  indeed,  to  prefer 
to  array  themselves  in  direct  antagonism  with  the  sober 
judgment  of  reason  and  good  sense.  Their  craving 
for  whatever  is  unnatural  and  exaggerated,  finds  but 
little  satisfaction  in  life's  daily  routine,  whatever  it  may 
be,  and  they  become  disgusted  with  an  existence  which 
to  their  diseased  fancy  is  "weary,  stale,  flat  and  un 
profitable." 

We  can  hardly  over-estimate  the  injury  which  such  a 
spirit  engenders,  however,  or  the  degree  to  which  it 
eats  away  the  welfare  and  happiness  of  mankind.  It  is 
a  secret  but  real  antagonist  to  truth;  for  truth  dwells 
not  in  extremes,  but  in  averages.  Experience  is  said 


320  COMMON    SENSE. 

to  keep  an  expensive  school,  yet  slie  seems  to  find 
plenty  of  pupils  who  are  contented  with  her  terms.  But 
who  among  the  thoughtful  would  willingly  barter  the 
sage  companionship  of  the  good  genius,  for  the  vagaries 
and  factitious  distinctions  so  coveted  by  the  so-called 
beau  monde,  when  their  attainment  but  too  often  fosters 
vanity  in  their  possessor,  or  provokes  envy  in  others. 
Look  at  the  lady  of  common  sense  as  she  mingles  with 
life's  busy  throng: 

"Meekly  among  the  gathering  crowd, 

A  maiden  fair,  without  pretence; 
And  should  you  ask  her  humble  name, 

She'd  mildly  whisper:  Common  Sense. 

Her  modest  garb  draws  every  eye, 

Her  ample  cloak,  her  shoes  of  leather; 
To  those  who  sneered,  she  simply  said: 
'  I  dress  according  to  the  weather/" 

Common  sense  is  twin-sister  with  sweet  content,  and 
they  are  always  found  in  harmony  and  sympathy.  Where 
they  take  up  their  abode,  there  the  charm  and  crown  of 
happy  living  is.  There  reign  the  queenly  virtues  and 
gentle  charities  of  domestic  life — all  unknown,  it  may 
be,  in  their  unobtrusiveness — to  the  outer  world.  How 
much  of  integrity  and  earnest  purpose  of  kindness  and 
delicate  feeling,  lives  and  bears  its  rich  fruitage  in  such 
a  charmed  circle!  Such  common-sense  people  may  be 
characterized  by  the  superficial  and  hollow-hearted 
votaries  of  the  world  as  common-place  and  prosaic. 
Their  beau  ideal  seems  to  consist  in  whatever  is  excit 
ing  and  strange,  extraordinary  and  extravagant.  Such 
dream  away  existence  in  indolence  and  inertia,  looking 
at  life  through  the  distorted  lens  of  a  diseased  and  ro 
mantic  idealism.  To  such  we  commend  the  needful 


,  JAMIE  H.  BEGGS. 


COMMON    SENSE.  321 

habit  of  self-culture,  and  that  much  neglected,  if  not 
lost  art — the  art  of  thinking,  and  the  suggestive  lines 
that  follow: 

"  So  should  we  live,  that  every  hour 

May  die,  as  dies  the  natural  flower — 

A  life-reviving  thing  of  power; 

That  every  thought,  and  every  deed 

May  hold  within  itself  the  seed 

Of  future  good  and  future  need.'"' 

Instances  of  the  fatal  effects  of  the  disregard  of  com 
mon  sense  are  on  record  in  all  histories,  in  morals,  lit 
erature,  sciences  and  social  life.  For  the  space  of  more 
than  six  centuries,  circumstances  which  excite  ridicule 
for  their  absurdity,  or  regret  on  account  of  their  injus 
tice,  fill  and  disgrace  the  annals  of  Europe.  The  trial 
by  judicial  combat,  the  various  appeals  to  accidental 
circumstances  for  the  decision  of  the  most  important 
causes,  the  right  of  private  war,  the  extravagant  pre 
tensions  of  chivalry,  the  gross,  complicated  impositions 
of  the  arbitrary  power,  and  the  unrelenting  rigor  of  the 
feudal  system,  are  only  so  many  outrages  on  the  ordi 
nary  judgment  of  mankind.  And  if  we  turn  to  the  classic 
ages,  among  the  treasured  literary  productions  of  the 
ancients,  what  noble  exceptions  do  the  works  of  Aris 
totle  and  Plato  form  to  the  absurdities  which  were^  in 
volved  in  the  ethical  systems,  and  perplexing  and  sub 
tle  doctrines  of  the  academies!  To  systems  so  repugnant  • 
to  common  sense,  the  teachings  of  Socrates,  however, 
constitute  a  memorable  contrast.  Even  in  our  day,  aro 
we  not  surrounded  with  instances  of  learning  allied  to 
lunacy,  or  what  seems  suggestive  of  something  akin  to 
it  ?  With  the  higher  order  of  intellectual  endowments, 
it  is  natural  to  expect  to  find  that  of  matured  wisdom; 
but  as  the  admixture  of  common  sense  is  essential  to 
21 


322    LA  FOI,   L'ESPERANCE,  ET  LA  CHARITE. 

the  union,  the  expectation  is  too  frequently  doomed  to 
be  disappointed. 

Genius  and  brilliant  talents  are  glorious  gifts,  and 
hostages  to  fame  and  fortune;  but  for  the  duties  and 
demands  of  daily  life — if  the  endowments  must  be  di 
vided — commend  us  to  a  goodly  store  of  common  sense. 


LA  FOI,  L'ESPEEANCE,  ET  LA  CHAEITE. 

BY  MADAME  AMELIA  MEZZARA. 

DIEU  vous  enleve  votre  mere, 

Et  vous,  pauvres  petits  enfants, 

Yous  restez  seuls  sur  la  terre; 

Sans  pain,  ni  toit,  toujours  souffrants! 

— "  Non,"  dit  tout  has  a  son  oreille, 

Un  ange  pres  d'elle  arrete; 

"  Tu  naeurs,  mais  moi  sur  eux  je  veille: 

On  me  nomme  LA  CHAEITE." 

Je  te  benis!     Mais  dans  leur  ame 
Qui  semera  le  pur  froment? 
Qui  leur  clira  de  quelle  flamme 
Doit  bruler  uii  coeur  innocent? — 
"  Repose  en  paix/'  lui  dit  encore 
Une  autre  voix,  "  ce  sera  moi; 
Le  Dieu  que  1'univers  adore, 
Sera  leur  Dieu:  je  suis  LA  FOI." 

Mercil     Mais  si  le  rneme  orage 
Les  repousse  aussi,  loin  du  bord, 
Qui  ranimera  leur  courage, 
Et  saura  leur  montrer  le  port? — 
"  Moi,  1'ange  de  la  Delivrance, 
Moi  qui  yeux  te  fermer  les  yeux; 
Dont  la  main  t'ouvrira  les  cieux, 
Et  qu'on  appelle  L'ESPERANCE." 


THE     FALLEN     NEST.  323 


THE  FALLEN  NEST. 

BY  TuoiiAs  W.  HANSHEW. 

ALL  day  the  slanting  bars  of  sunlight  have  flashed 
through  the  interlaced  boughs  of  pine  and  maple,  oak 
and  hickory.  But  as  evening  draws  on,  the  dark  clouds 
have  piled  across  the  gray  and  golden  horizon,  the  soft 
sigh  of  the  summer  breeze  has  grown  into  a  roar,  as 
the  forest  monarchs  bow  their  stately  heads.  Night 
conies  on.  The  lark  has  long  since  quitted  the  em 
pyrean,  and  sought  its  low-lying  nest;  the  robin  has 
ceased  to  whistle  in  the  emerald  haze  of  the  pine 
boughs,  and  now  lies  over  her  warm  eggs,  and  blinks  her 
sleepy  eyes  at  the  storm  that  causes  her  home  to 
sway  to  and  fro  with  its  every  gust.  The  pelting  rain 
drives  down  in  straight,  glistening  lines  from  the  angry 
heavens,  and  nature  seems  preparing  herself  for  a  sec 
ond  Deluge.  For  an  instant  there  is  a  lull,  then  the 
wild  fury  of  the  storm  breaks  forth  with  treble  violence. 
The  dark  branches  toss,  heave,  and  rustle  one  against 
the  other,  and  a  sharp  screech  breaks  even  above  the 
noise  of  the  elements,  as  the  robin's  nest  is  hurled  from 
its  feeble  hold,  turns  over  in  mid-air,  and  empties  its 
contents  upon  the  hard  earth,  over  which  the  screaming 
mother  hovers  and  gazes  at  her  mangled  treasures.  The 
birds  in  the  other  trees  hear  her  agonizing  screeches, 
and  even  in  the  face  of  the  storm,  fly  and  seek  to 
console  her. 

Summer  drifts  into  Autumn.  Autumn  merges  into 
"Winter,  and  the  earth  lies  slumbering  under  its  snowy 
mantle.  Piece  by  piece  the  hidden  nest  falls  into  de 
cay,  straw  by  straw  it  drops  asunder,  and  when  the 
rivers  break  their  icy  bondage,  and  gush  with  a  low 


324  THE     FALLEN    NEST. 

murmur  of  delight  through  the  faintly-green  dells;  when 
the  early  flowers  lift  their  fragrant  heads  to  the  gentle 
breeze,  and  the  warmth  of  the  spring  sunlight  bathes 
the  earth,  only  a  mangled,  shapeless  mass  marks  the 
spot  where  the  nest  fell. 

So  it  is  in  life.  Who  has  not  possessed  a  nest — a 
fond  hope  ?  And,  alas !  who  has  not  beheld  it  dashed 
from  its  feeble  hold  and  hurled  in  a  heap  of  ruins  to  the 
cold  earth? 

The  butterfly  friends  of  society  will  turn  away  with  a 
"  Poor  fellow!  his  nest  has  fallen,  but  he  never  was  one 
of  our  set,"  and  the  few  who,  perchance,  do  feel  for  the 
owner,  forget  in  an  hour  that  his  nest  ever  existed. 
Soon  Time,  like  the  snow-drift,  covers  the  mound. 
Piece  by  piece  that,  too,  falls  into  decay,  until  the  light 
of  other  days  reveals  the  shapeless  mass — the  ruined 
nest.  But  even  in  the  midst  of  joy  and  plenty,  the 
mind  will  drift  back,  and  among  the  many  pleasures  of 
to-day,  we  sigh  for  the  one  lost  long  ago.  And  who 
shall  say  it  is  not  so  with  the  robin  ?  Who  shall  say 
that  sometime  in  later  life,  with  her  twittering  young 
around  her,  there  is  npt  one  bitter  memory  of  the  fallen 
nest? 

Is  it  not  a  glorious  thing,  then,  to  go  through  life, 
eyes  for  the  sightless,  and  feet  for  the  lame  ? 

So  when  we  see  a  fellow-being  in  distress,  let  us  not 
pass  him  by  with  a  word  of  pity;  rather  let  us  stop  a 
moment  and  help  him  to  raise  his  fallen  nest. 


HOW    LILIAN    LEFT    US.  325 


HOW  LILIAN  LEFT  US. 

BY  EPES  SARGENT. 

BEIGHT  issue  of  a  midnight  thunder-shower, 

The  purple  morning  broke  on  tree  and  flower; 

'Twas  early  June;  mildly  the  west  wind  blew 

The  well-washed  foliage  through, 

Scattering  around  the  drops,  and  fanning  dry 

Each  little  leaf  that  courted  the  blue  sky; 

Waving  the  uncut  grass  upon  the  lawn, 

And  wafting  all  the  odors  of  the  dawn. 

The  orchard  grounds  were  white 

With  blossoms  that  had  fallen  in  the  night; 

The  birds  made  proclamation 

Tuneful,  of  their  delight,  to  all  creation. 

The  little  wild  flowers  meek 

Looked  all  the  gladness  that  they  could  not  speak; 

The  violet,  still  blooming  in  the  shade; 

The  scarlet  columbine,  bedecked  with  gold, 

In  rocky  clefts,  secure  from  wind  and  cold; 

The  anemone,  of  every  gust  afraid — 

All  by  the  rain-storm  seemed  the  happier  made, 

Now  that  the  earth  in  sunshine  was  arrayed. 

Behold  that  cottage  with  the  pines  behind, 

Its  portico  with  honej-suckle  twined; 

Thence,  looking  eastward,  haply  you  may  see — 

If  from  all  blur  of  fog  the  air  is  free — 

A  shimmer  of  the  ocean's  brilliancy. 

Fair  spot!  there  surely  dwelleth  happiness! 

There  cluster  the  amenities  that  bless! 

Affliction  spares  its  modest  sanctity; 

Trouble,  disease,  and  discord  pass  it  by. 


326  HOW    LILIAN    LEFT    US. 

Ah,  trust  not  to  the  outward!     There,  even  there, 

Death's  angel  finds  a  flower  it  may  not  spare. 

Into  that  room,  facing  the  orient, 

Enter,  and  you  will  hear  a  low  lament 

"Wrung  from  a  mother's  heart;  she  bows  her  head, 

As  if  refusing  to  be  comforted. 


o 


A  little  girl,  in  pain  unwonted  lying, 

Says,  "  Dear  mamma,  what  makes  me  feel  so  strange?" 

"  My  darling,"  sobs  the  mother,  "  you  are  dying!" 

"  Dying?  but  what  is  that?"    *"  For  you,  a  change 

From  earth  to  heaven,  my  sweet."    "But  where  is  heaven?" 

"  Darling,  'tis  where  God  and  His  angels  dwell; 

Where  to  the  pure  in  heart  great  joy  is  given." 

"  I  do  not  care  to  go;  I'm  very  well 

Here  where  I  am.     But  could  you  go  with  me?" 

"  Darling,  that  cannot  be." 

"  You,  papa,  will  you  go  with  me? — I'm  your  pet." 

"  My  child!  my  child!  they  do  not  want  me  yet." 

"  But  some  one  must — I  cannot  go  alone 

Where  I'm  not  known. 

I  'm  not  quite  old  enough  to  go  to  heaven — 

I'm  not  yet  seven. 

My  own  laburnum  tree  is  now  in  bloom, 

And  I  have  just  fixed  up  my  little  room; 

And  then  my  kitten — surely  it  will  grieve 

If  I  am  made  to  leave. 

You  will  go  with  me,  brother,  you  will  go  ? 

You  used  to  lead  me  through  the  woods,  you  know, 

And  show  me  where  the  bluest  violets  grow. 

You  cannot  ?     Sister  Ellen,  how  can  I 

Go  all  alone  ?     Why,  sister,  do  you  cry  ?" 

And  wondering  what  should  cause  them  all  to  weep 
The  troubled  maiden  sank  at  length  to  sleep — 


HOW    LILIAN    LEFT    US.  327 

A  sleep  profound.     After  a  little  while 

There  played  upon  her  lips  a  holy  smile, 

And  her  face  seemed  transfigured.     Then  she  woke, 

And  in  a  tone  of  exultation  spoke: 

"  O,  mamma!  papa!  I  have  seen  them  all — 

Grandpa,  aunt  Martha,  and  my  cousin  Paul! 

They  told  me  not  to  worry;  they  would  come 

And  take  me  safely  home — to  my  new  home. 

You  need  not  go,  since  they  don't  want  you  yet. 

r  m  not  afraid,  papa!     Your  little  pet 

Is  not  afraid.     They  will  be  with  me — all — 

Grandpa,  aunt  Martha,  and  my  cousin  Paul! 

And  they  all  know  the  way.     So  do  not  grieve 

Because  the  good  God  wants  me  now  to  leave. 

Soon  you  will  come  and  join  us — so  they  say — 

And  we  shall  be  as  glad  as  flowers  in  May." 

And  prattling  thus,  amid  the  general  grief, 

The  little  child  at  length, 
In  one  last  sigh  of  rapture  and  relief, 

Seemed  to  give  up  the  visible  body's  strength, 
And  go,  serene  and  meek, 

Perhaps  not  all  alone,  .- - 

Into  the  great  unknown, 
With  not  a  tear-drop  on  the  mortal  cheek. 

A  bird,  upon  her  own  laburnum  tree, 

Poured  out  its  very  heart  in  sudden  glee; 

The  pausies,  in  her  strip  of  garden,  lifted 

Their  velvet  eyes,  and  the  white  blossoms  drifted — 

"Within  her  little  room 

The  dolls  and  books  were  as  she  placed  them  last; 
And  all  the  grief  and  gloom 

Were  in  the  hearts  that  clung  to  her  so  fast. 
Grieve  not,  reft  hearts!     Your  darling  is  not  dead; 
She  lives  a  fuller  life :  be  comforted ! 


328  HOW    LILIAN    LEFT    US. 

Weep  not,  fond  parents,  as  if  hope  were  ended, 
When  from  the  mortal  form  the  life  departs : 

Your  little  one  goes  forth  not  unattended, 
Beyond  are  gentle  hands  and  loving  hearts. 

Where,  think  you,  are  the  saintly  ones  uncounted, 
Whose  joy  it  was  on  earth  to  give  relief? 

Deaf  to  our  woes,  aspiring  have  they  mounted 
Beyond  the  hearing  of  a  voice  of  grief  ? 

Believe  it  not!     To  help  God's  whole  creation 
Is  heaven  for  those  who  nearest  draw  to  Him; 

To  think  of  one,  lost  beyond  all  salvation, 

Would  make  the  inmost  heaven  seem  void  and  dim. 

To  lift  the  soul  to  its  own  purpose  nigher, 
To  check  the  erring,  the  corrupt  to  heal; 

A  thirst  for  saving  wisdom  to  inspire — 
Such  is  their  high  prerogative,  they  feel! 

Mother,  thy  child  is  safe  in  their  warm  folding 
Who  to  thy  tenderest  yearning  can  respond; 

An  angel  arm  is  thy  beloved  one  holding — 
Shall  heavenly  love  than  earthly  be  less  fond  ? 


BIBLIOMANIA.  329 


BIBLIOMANIA. 

BY  ALFRED  E.  WHITAKER. 

"BE  pleasant,  brave,  and  fond  of  books,"  was  the 
precept  of  one  of  America's  greatest  lawyers  to  his  chil 
dren;  and  by  all  youth  let  it  be  remembered  and  its 
injunctions  obeyed,  for  it  is  worthy,  and  will  richly  re 
ward  with  its  consolation,  in  future  years. 

Love  of  books  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  pleasantest, 
most  beneficial  and  altogether  most  satisfying  emotions 
in  which  mankind  can  indulge.  It  is  an  incentive  to 
youth,  it  is  life  and  growth  to  manhood,  and  an  infinite 
solace  to  old  age.  Says  a  late  writer,  "Be  the  taste  for 
books  a  mania,  a  hobby,  a  passion,  or  what  it  may, 
what  other  taste  is  more  rational  or  more  delightful?" 

Tastes  differ  in  different  individuals.  Different  minds 
incline  toward  different  objects.  Hobbies,  of  every 
conceivable  kind,  have  been  ridden,  and  manias  have 
raged,  at  various  periods  in  the  world's  history,  for 
almost  every  object  under  the  sun.  Some  two  hundred 
and  fifty  years  ago,  the  so-called  "Tulip-mania"  raged 
in  Holland,  when  the  fabulous  sum  of  $7,500  was,  in 
one  instance,  paid  for  a  single  bulb.  Watches  have 
been  objects  of  search  for  passionate  hunters,  of  which 
one  of  the  most  noted  collectors  was  the  Duke  of  Wel 
lington.  Joseph  Gillott,  the  famous  steel-pen  maker, 
was  a  collector  of  violins,  though  no  player  himself.  A 
celebrated  basso  had  walking-sticks  for  a  hobby;  an 
other  is  recorded  as  having  an  extensive  collection  of 
hangmen's  halters;  a  Parisian  poured  forth  his  passion 
in  warming-pans;  a  New  Yorker  amassed  a  collection  of 
150  snuff-boxes,  15  watches,  seals,  brooches,  etc.,  while 
a  London  banker  died  the  fortunate  (?)  possessor  of  over 


330  BIBLIOMANIA. 

300  writing  and  dressing-cases.  Double  hobby-riders, 
or  persons  with  a  mania  for  two  or  more  classes  of  ob 
jects,  are  not  uncommon.  Gillott  combined  with  his 
violins,  paintings  as  well.  Snuff-boxes  and  walking- 
sticks  are  found  together,  and  watches  with  both.  Coins 
have  been  a  favorite  hobby,  and  enormous  prices  have 
been  paid  for  single  specimens.  Among  the  young, 
postage-stamps  form,  perhaps,  the  most  popular  col 
lections.  The  ceramic  fever,  or  mania  for  pottery  and 
porcelain,  is  a  very  old  one,  and  has  had  many  revivals, 
and  to-day  the  passion  for  Sevres  and  b'atsuma  rages 
with  renewed  fierceness.  A  few  years  since,  at  a  sale 
in  London,  a  pair  of  small  vases,  eleven  inches  high, 
sold  for  £8825,  or  forty-four  thousand  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  dollars. 

Thus  might  the  list  of  hobbies  be  extended,  to  show 
how  diverse  and  restless  is  human  passion.  We  are  all 
natural  collectors,  and  can  only  realize  the  collector's 
true  delight  when  our  hobby  is  found  and  equipped. 

But,  as  books  are  intrinsically  superior  to  and  above 
the  violin,  the  watch,  the  Satsuma  bowl,  or  the  Sevres 
vase,  so  is  the  love  of  books,  both  in  its  simple  exercise 
and  in  its  ennobling  results,  above  and  beyond  the  mere 
passion  expended  upon  a  collection  of  warming-pans 
or  earthen  jars.  The  lover  of  ceramics  claims,  and 
truly,  that  his  collection  acquaints  him  with  the  arts, 
customs  and  manners  of  other  peoples,  and  thus  affords 
him  instruction;  but  books  bring  you  face  to  face  with 
men, — the  true  representatives  of  race  and  age, — their 
lives  and  very  thoughts  enlighten  and  instruct  you 
through  plain  and  delightful  intercourse.  It  has  been 
aptly  said,  "As  bread  and  meat  are  food  for  the  body, 
so  books  are  pabulum  for  the  mind."  Other  tastes  are 
the  conserves  and  confections  of  the  mind:  they  may 


BIBLIOMANIA.  331 

please  it  for  a  while,  but  for  solid  nourishment  the  in 
tellect  must  full  Lack  on  books. 

The  potter's  handiwork  may  contain  in  its  make  a  na 
tion's  history,  but  it  is  a  sealed  packet.  A  book,  in  its 
open  page  is  a  revelation  to  the  understanding,  and 
he  "who  runs  may  read."  The  sphere  of  books  is 
boundless,  and  open  to  all.  Aside  from  the  abiding 
usefulness  and  benefit  accruing  to  the  ^oo/j-collector, 
but  unknown  to  the  mere  novelty  or  curio-hunter,  there 
is  also  present  to  the  former,  in  his  occupation,  the 
same  fascination,  which  is,  to  a  great  extent  the  main 
spring  to  the  latter.  Rivalry  and  competition  for  a 
coveted  copy  or  edition  abound,  and  the  prices  books 
have  brought  in  open  sales,  attest  the  fierceness  of  the 
contest  for  their  possession. 

The  struggle  for  the  Yaldarfer  edition  of  Boccaccio, 
at  the  sale  of  the  library  of  the  Duke  of  Hoxburghe, 
cost  Earl  Spencer  eleven  thousand  three  hundred  dol 
lars.  A  small  quarto  printed  at  Metz  in  1516  was  re 
cently  sold  in  Paris  for  two  thousand  two  hundred  and 
twenty  dollars.  A  Mazarine  Bible  brought  in  the  same 
city,  seventeen  thousand  dollars.  Works  of  such  rarity, 
that  the  possessor  of  every  copy  in  existence  is  a  mat 
ter  of  common  knowledge  to  all  book-hunters,  when 
offered  for  sale,  command  great  prices,  and  hence  con 
stant  watchfulness  on  the  part  of  the  collector  is  requi 
site  to  success. 

But  not  in  its  fascination  to  the  collector,  not  in  the 
gratification  of  present  indulgence  alone,  lies  the  supe 
riority  of  Biblio  over  other  manias,  but  in  the  great  and 
enduring  pleasure  derived  from  association  and  inter 
course  with  his  possessions.  His  conquests  are  not 
cold  idols  of  stone  and  painted  clay,  but  living  thought 
and  soul  with  which  to  commune.  The  testimony  of 


332  LONG    TOM. 

thousands  bears  witness  to  the  comforts  and  blessings 
derived  from  books.  Said  Frederick  the  Great  in  his 
youth,  "  Books  make  up  no  small  part  of  human  happi 
ness;"  and  in  old  age,  "  My  latest  passion  will  be  for 
literature." 

How  then,  can  we  compare  the  collector  of  books,  in 
his  occupation,  with  the  accumulator  of  coins  or  curios 
ities?  As  well  for  value  and  usefulness,  compare  the 
library  of  the  one  with  the  museum  of  the  other. 

Let  our  youth  cultivate  in  their  nature  the  love  of 
books,  a  love  based  upon  their  inner  merit  and  worth, 
upon  the  delight  and  information  they  are  able  to  afford; 
and  the  inherent  mania  for  collection  will  the  more  nat 
urally  expend  its  vitality  in  amassing  objects  the  most 
worthy,  and  which  alone  can  afford  us  the  greatest 
possible  pleasure  and  good — namely,  books. 


LONG  TOM. 

BY  HECTOR  A.  STUART  ("CALIBAN.") 

GOOD-BYE,  pards,  Long  Tom  is  going, 

He  must  leave  the  Yuba  now; 
Silent  rest  while  it  is  flowing; 

He  at  last  to  death  must  bow. 
Here,  beside  the  golden  river, 

In  this  log-hut,  he  must  die, 
While  the  pines  above  him  shiver, 

And  old  friends  in  anguish  sigh. 

Hit,  you  know,  in  that  last  battle 
"We  had  with  the  Injun  braves, 

Whar'  I  heard  my  last  gun  rattle, 
AVhar'  we  filled  a  dozen  graves. 


LONG    TOM.  333 

Thar'  I  fought,  and  in  that  tussle, 
Eight  beside  old  "  Fox-skin  "  stood; 

Thar'  I  heard  an  arrow  rustle, 
Coming  from  the  cotton-wood. 

You  knew  "  Fox-skin;"  on  the  Feather, 

When  I  lay  with  ague  sick, 
He  stood  by  me,  thar'  together, 

Night  and  day  with  me  he'd  stick. 
Yes,  he  nursed  me  like  a  mother — 

Bless  that  name,  it  makes  me  cry — 
Thar' s  on  earth  no  such  another : 

Oh,  that  mothers  e'er  should  die! 

"  Fox-skin"  watched  me;  full  cf  feeling, 

He  alone  did  with  me  stay, 
Close  from  me  the  fact  concealing 

That  the  boys  had  gone  away; 
Gone  because  the  red-skins,  rising, 

Meant  the  camp  to  hustle  out, 
And  alread}7,  ill  devising, 

Prowled  the  skirting  hills  about. 

Thar'  I  lay,  a  month  or  over, 

"  Fox-skin  "  always  nigh  at  hand; 
Till  I  turned  on  the  recover, 

Steering  from  the  ghostly  land. 
Then  when  I  could  use  my  rifle, 

I  went  out  to  join  the  band 
Led  by  "  Fox-skin,"  who'd  not  trifle 

"When  a  case  would  grit  demand. 

Wall,  we  fought,  as  you  remember, 

Eight  among  the  cotton-trees, 
On  the  last  day  of  December, 

In  a  fierce,  snow-laden  breeze; 


334:  LONG    TOM. 

From  Nevada's  summits  blowing, 
It  came  burdened  with  a  tone 

On  my  heart  a  dread  bestowing, 
It  before  had  never  known. 

Still,  the  skirmish  went  on  howling, 

Arrows  often  near  me  came; 
But  I  kept  my  yager  rolling, 

And,  I  guess,  corralled  some  game. 
But  at  last  I  heard  an  arrow 

From  a  grove  of  cottons  hum, 
Aimed  at  "  Fox-skin/'  sure  as  faro, 

I  believed  his  time  had  come. 

Quick  as  lightning,  from  the  cover, 

I  sprang  out  to  stop  the  dart; 
But  I  failed — it  whistled  over, 

'Scaped  me,  and  went  through  his  heart! 
Thar'  he  fell ;  but  quickly  raising 

On  the  clump  my  rifle  long, 
"Whar'  a  camp-fire,  dimly  blazing, 

Showed  a  mighty  active  throng, 

I  let  drive,  and  by  the  howling 

Knowed  I  had  some  evil  wrought; 
But  ill-luck  was  o'er  me  scowling — 

My  last  battle  had  been  fought. 
I  was  soon  to  cross  the  river, 

Leave  the  Land  of  Gold  behind, 
Whar'  no  shaft  from  Injun  quiver 

Could  a  fatal  lodgment  find. 

As  I  rose  to  fire  another 

Telling  shot,  an  arrow  came 

From  the  brave  who  shot  the  other, 
And  as  deadly  in  its  aim. 


LONG    TOM.  335 

Stricken,  I,  near  "Fox-skin  "  bleeding, 

Sank  unconscious  from  the  strife, 
Of  myself  meanwhile  unheeding, 

Grieved  I  had  not  saved  his  life. 

Now,  my  pards,  you  see  me  dying, 

Going  to  that  unknown  shore 
"VVhar'  the  soul,  no  longer  sighing, 

Bests  untroubled  evermore. 
Thar'  I  see  old  "  Fox-skin  "  standing 

On  the  margin  of  the  stream; 
He  has  safely  made  a  landing — 

I  will  join  him — but,  I  dream! 

Lay  me,  friends,  beside  the  river, 

Whar'  the  pines  may  dirges  sound; 
Whar'  the  spear-topt  rushes  quiver, 

And  the  gurgling  eddies  bound. 
Lay  me,  friends,  whar'  "  Fox-skin"  slumbers, 

He  for  whom  I  almost  died; 
Whar'  no  coward,  who  earth  cumbers, 

Shall  e'er  rest  our  dust  beside! 


336  LITTLE    BED-FOOT. 


LITTLE  BED-FOOT. 

BY  " OLIVE  THORNE.  "  (Mrs.  Harriet  M.  Miller.) 

IN  the  sands  of  the  sea-shore,  where  every  wave  covers 
him  with  water  and  then  receding,  leaves  him  exposed 
to  the  mercy  of  man,  is  an  interesting  little  creature 
with  one  red  foot.  He  lives  in  a  solid  house  of  stone, 
elegantly  fluted  and  adorned,  or  protected,  by  polished 
spiny  points,  and  painted  in  bands  of  two  shades  of 
rich  reddish-brown. 

This  house,  curious  to  say,  is  in  two  exactly  similar 
parts,  and  opens,  when  its  owner  wishes  to  take  the  air, 
in  the  middle,  through  its  entire  length,  as  a  book  opens 
on  its  hinge  or  back.  When  the  house  is  closed  and 
its  tenant  not  at  home  to  visitors,  it  looks  on  the  side 
like  a  round  stone,  and  on  the  end  it  presents  the  shape 
of  a  heart,  which  circumstance  gives  the  name  of  Car- 
dium,  from  a  Greek  word  meaning  the  heart,  to  the 
family,  though  out  of  books  it  is  known  as  the  Cockle. 

The  dweller  in  the  stone  house  has  no  need  to  hide 
himself.  He  wears  a  beautiful  mantle  of  brilliant 
orange  and  pearly  white  color,  decorated  with  rich 
fringes,  and  is  possessed  of  a  most  wonderful  foot.  He 
has  but  one,  it  is  true — he  is  a  monopod — but  this  one 
is  more  useful  than  two,  or  even  four  of  some  creatures. 

When  he  desires  to  move  about — one  can  hardly  say 
to  walk — he  opens  wide  his  two  pretty  shells,  thrusts 
out  his  long,  tapering,  brilliant  scarlet  foot,  four  inches 
from  the  door,  with  a  knee  in  the  proper  place  and  a 
flexible  point  instead  of  a  toe,  and  feels  about  with  the 
sensitive  tip  for  a  stone  or  something  hard.  On  touch 
ing  a  stone,  the  toe  presses  against  it,  the  whole  foot  is 
suddenly  made  stiff,  and  away  flops  Mr.  Cockle,  shell 


LITTLE    BED-FOOT.  337 

and  all,  a  foot  or  more  away.  Repeating  this  process, 
lie  can  get  about  as  much  as  he  likes,  especially  as  he 
isn't  a  great  traveler  and  not  in  the  least  particular 
where  his  leaps  bring  up,  and  he  belongs  to  a  family 
which  always  get  around  by  jerks. 

Thus  the  one  foot  is  all  he  needs  for  moving;  and  to 
assist  in  burying  himself  in  the  sand,  'which  is  much 
more  important  to  him,  nothing  could  be  more  perfect. 
To  accomplish  this  the  cockle  thrusts  the  pointed  coral 
foot  straight  down  into  the  soft,  wet  sand  as  far  as  he 
can,  and  bends  the  flexible  tip  sideways,  to  get  a  hold. 
He  then  suddenly  contracts  the  organ  through  its  whole 
length,  which  draws  the  shell  to  the  edge  of  the  hole, 
with  its  sharp  edges  cutting  the  sand.  Another  push 
of  the  foot  and  another  haul  take  him  a  little  deeper, 
and  so  he  goes  on  till  he  is  buried  out  of  sight;  the 
whole  operation  taking  but  a  few  seconds. 

The  bivalve  family,  to  which  he  belongs,  is  extremely 
useful;  eating  everything,  no  matter  how  small,  which 
would  make  the  water  impure.  It  is  a  curious  experi 
ment  to  put  a  healthy  bivalve  into  a  dish  of  water  deeply 
colored  with  iudigo,  and  see  it  gradually  grow  lighter 
and  finally  become  perfectly  clear,  as  the  creature  ab 
sorbs  every  particle  of  Iho  coloring  substance. 

The  spinous  cockles  are  found  chiefly  on  the  Devonshire 
coast,  in  England,  where  the  natives  give  them  the  vul 
gar  name  of  "red  noses,"  and  are  very  fond  of  them, 
alas!  fried  in  a  batter  of  bread  crumbs. 


22 


338  CONSTANTIA. 

CONSTANTIA. 

BY  REV.  DR.  BERNARD  O'REILLY. 
( A  fragment  from  an  unpublished  drama.) 

CONSTANTIA,  the  daughter  of  Don  Bernal  de  Cordova,  an  officer  in  high 
command  in  the  West  Indies,  has,  with  her  mother  and  two  attendants, 
Juan  and  Anita,  been  kidnapped  by  Mexicans  on  the  coast  of  Cuba,  and 
carried  off  to  Mexico.  There,  after  some  time,  the  mother  dies,  and 
Constantia,  taken  into  favor  by  Montezuma's  empress,  grows  up  to 
womanhood,  revered  by  the  natives  for  her  skill  in  the  healing  art,  her 
kindness  to  the  poor,  and  her  uncommon  beauty. 

Marina,  is  supposed  to  be  a  half  sister  of  Montezuma,  as  madly 
jealous  of  his  love  for  Constantia,  as  she  is  ambitious  to  see  Cortes  and 
her  own  son  by  him  sovereigns  of  Mexico. 

ACT  I. — A  Temple  hewn  in  the  solid  rock,  amid  a  grove  of  gigantic 
cypresses. 

The  scene  displays  the  interior  of  this  edifice. 

Coupled  columns  of  red  jasper  with  gilt  capitals,  support  a  lofty  arch 
beneath  which  is  the  yawning  entrance  to  the  Oracular  Cave.  A  dark 
curtain  fringed  with  red  cover,  runs  the  whole  breadth  of  the  arch;  it  is 
behind  this  veil  the  human  sacrifice  takes  place  during  the  incantation. 
Immediately  in  front  of  this  entrance,  stands  an  altar  on  which  the 
perpetual  fire  is  fed  night  and  day  ~by  the  attendant  priests.  In  the 
middle  of  the  altar  is  the  Brazier,  on  which  were  thrown  the  bleeding 
hearts  of  the  human  victims  sacrificed. 

Between  two  pairs  of  coupled  columns  on  each  side  of  the  central  arch 
over  the  cavern,  were  tripods,  with  .fire  on  which  incense  and  richest 
perfumes  were  continually  thrown  by  the  Ministers. 

Single  pilasters  of  the  same  red  jasper  run  down  both  sides  of  the 
building,  with  gilt  capitals;  the  spaces  between  them  are  fitted  with 
sacrificial  scenes. 

The  architrave  and  cornice  are  of  green  serpentine;  and  the  frieze  of 
black  marble  inlaid  in  bright  red  and  green,  with  gigantic  figures  of 
serpents. 

Prince  Ayotla,  the  High  Priest,  over  his  rich  princely  robes,  wears  a 
scarlet  cloak,  and  a  coronal  of  green  and  yellow  plumes. 
The  Emperor  and  Kings  wear  their  state  costumes. 
Ayotla,  and  two  assistant  priests,  stand  on  the  left  of  the  spectator, 


CONSTANTIA.  339 

about  two  feet  from  the  altar;  Ketzal  and  two  assistants,  stand  on  the 
right. 

Montczuma  and  Tecama,  with  their  chamberlains,  are  between  Ayotla 
and  the  front  of  the  stage.  Coulava  and  Gnatemozin,  with  their  officers, 
front  them  on  the  other  side.  A  double  rank  of  priests  extend  behind 
the  high  priests  and  royal  personages,  down  to  the  entrance. 

Marina,  in  her  disguise,  is  seen  in  a  dark  corner  near  the  altar.  Con- 
jtantia,  conspicuous  only  by  her  blue  plumes,  wears  a  dark  mantle,  and 
is  behind  the  Emperor,  almost  concealed  among  his  suite. 

While  Ayotla  chaunts  each  verse  of  the  Incantation,  he  holds  up  his 
right  hand.  The  chorus  of  priests,  while  answering,  do  the  same. 

The  only  light  comes  from  the  Brazier  and  the  Tripods. 

SCENE  4. — Temple  of  Tezcapuili  (or  the  God  of  Death);  in 
the  Palace  of  Chepultepec. 

MONTEZUMA,  the  Kings  of  TEZCUCO,  TACUBA,  ISTAPAL;  Prin 
ces  AYOTLA  and  KETZAL;  CONSTANTIA,  MAKINA;  priests,  guards 
and  attendants. 

Ayotla  (High  Priest). 

Great  Spirit  who  dividest  with  the  day, 
The  worship  of  each  faithful  Aztec  soul, 
The  sky,  the  blooming  earth  owns  thy  control; 

Deep  ocean,  fire  and  death  feel  thy  dread  sway. 

Chorus  of  Priests. 

From  thine  eternal  seat, 

Amid  earth's  central  gloom, 
Hear  thou  thy  people's  prayer; 

Avert  our  monarch's  doom! 

(They  throw  incense  on  the  Brazier  and  on  the  flames  of 
the  Tripods,  which  causes  the  light  to  flare  up  dismally.) 

Ayotla. 

Within  thy  realms,  fate  weaves  the  thread 
Of  men  and  kings,  and  empires'  destinies; 
Nor  gods  nor  mortals  'scape  these  fixed  decrees. 

Man's  life  is  but  thy  boon,  to  thee  belong  the  dead. 


340  CONSTANTIA. 

Chorus  of  Priests. 

Each  clay  we  honor  thee 

With  frequent  sacrifice, 

(A  shriek  and  death-groan  are  heard  within.) 
Hear  now  the  victim's  moan, 

And  at  the  sound  arise! 

(Priests  come  from  behind  the  veil,  one  bearing  in  a  golden 
vessel  human  blood,  still  warm  from  the  veins;  an 
other  two  palpitating  human  hearts,  in  a  golden  censer, 
which  they  present  to  the  High  Priest.) 

Ayotla  (Sprinkling  the  blood  on  the  altar,  the  brazier,  the 
tripods,  and  at  the  entrance  to  the  cave). 

The  life-blood  thou  didst  warm,  we  pour  to  thee; 
(Placing  the  hearts  in  the  naming  brazier.) 

The  hearts  it  filled  we  on  thine  altar  burn; 

The  spirit  which  thou  gav'st  we  here  return; 
We  speed  it  with  our  prayer.    Arise!   Propitious  be! 

(The  ground  is  shaken  as  by  the  throes  of  an  earthquake,  a 
mighty  wind  wars  among  the  trees  outside,  and  proceeds 
like  a  loud  moaning  sound  fi-om  the  cave;  the  fires  flare 
up  fitfully.) 

Chorus  of  Priests  (all  kneeling). 

O  King  of  Night  and  Death, 

Arise  !  Appear ! 
Thine  own  lov'd  people  call; 

Dispel  their  monarch's  fear ! 

(Amidst  the  earthquake  and  the  roar  of  the  tempest,  the 
flame  on  the  altar  and  the  tripods  suddenly  seems  to  ex 
pire;  a  dim  effulgence  appears  at  the  entrance  to  the  cave, 
and  a  dark  figure,  with  a  bright  purple  star  on  its  head, 
rises  slowly,  until  it  seems  to  stand  on  the  altar  over  the 
censer  and  brazier.  At  that  moment  AYOTLA  and  his  at 
tendants  withdraw  to  the  right  and  left,  and  MONTEZUMA 
with  the  kings  approach  the  altar.) 


CONSTANTIA.  341 

Montezuma  (holding  in  his  hand  the  amulet). 
Dark  spirit,  whatso'er  thou  be,  I  know  not; 
Thou  art  my  father's  god,  for  ages  here 
By  them  worshipp'd  and  invok'd.    To  them  thou  gavest 
In  war  to  be  victorious;  in  peace  to  be 
By  all  men  honor'd  and  obey'd.     And  now, 
In  this  new  danger  to  my  people's  freedom 
And  my  ancestral  throne,  I  come  to  thee; 
I  whom  men  call  the  Descendant  of  the  Sun, 
And  on  thine  altar,  here,  and  at  thy  feet, 
I  place  this  heaven-sent  pledge  of  all  my  power. 
Speak  to  me!     Say,  who  are  these  foreign  men? 
And  what  forebodes  their  coming  to  my  subjects 
And  to  me  ? 

Ayotla  (sternly  to  the  Emperor). 
Kneel! 

(At  this  instant  CONSTANTIA,  letting  fall  her  dark  mantle, 
comes  forward,  seizes  the  Emperor's  right  hand,  and 
holds  up  in  her  own  a  small  golden  cross.) 

Constantia. 

Kneel  not!  Adore  him  not, 

My  Lord!     And  thou,  rebellious,  fallen,  and  false! 
Eevere  this  sign,  and  by  His  dread  name  adjured, 
Speak  but  the  truth  to  these  deluded  men; 
Nor  now  presume  to  cheat  their  ignorance 
By  lying  oracles !     Speak ! 

Spirit. 

The  winds  bear  with  them  on  their  plumes  unseen, 
The  fertilizing  germs  for  tree  and  shrub; 
The  ocean  tides  convey  from  shore  to  shore, 
All  unknowing,  the  seeds  of  life  and  plenty 
For  the  nations.     He  who  thrones  within  the  halls 
Built  by  Asaya,  and  his  blind  companions, 
Bear  with  them  truth  life-giving.    Insects  in  the  night, 


34:2  CONSTANTIA. 

They  give  forth  light,  darkling  themselves  the  while. 
They  must  go  hence,  but  surely  to  return. 
Montezuma!  "We  meet  ere  yet  another  sun 
Hath  risen  on  Anahwa.     But  not  with  thee 
Shall  end  great  Tenoch's  line,  nor  yet  with  thee 
Shall  fall  the  imperial  Aztec  power. 
All  else  a  veil  impenetrable  hides; 
And  one  far  mightier  further  speech  forbids. 

Montezuma. 

Tell  me  yet  one  thing  more.     Whose  then  the  hand 
By  which  I'm  doomed  to  fall  ? 

Spirit. 

A  hand  by  thee 

Oft  clasp'd  in  loving  childhood  and  in  youth, 
Shall  wing  the  shaft. 

Montezuma. 

Enough !     E'en  though  I  die 
"With  me  yet  dieth  not  the  liberty 
Or  greatness  of  my  native  land.     With  me 
Ye  perish  not,  my  brothers  and  my  kinsmen! 
Nay,  fain  am  I  to  think  thou  spokest  false, 
O !  Dark  One,  when  thou  saidst  that  by  the  hand 
Of  mine  own  lov'd  ones — 

Coulava  (interrupting).. 
Say,  that  he  doth  lie, 
God  though  he  be,  if  he  would  intimate 
That  this  my  heart  could  plot  'gainst  thee,  my  brother, 
Or  that  this  good  right  hand  should  e'er  be  raised 
But  to  defend  thy  throne  and  thee.     And  so 
I  say  for  thee,  Tabuca,  and  for  Tecama, 
Nay,  for  all  who  now  indignant  hear 
My  voice  of  protestation. 

Guatemozin  and  Tecama. 

Aye!  False!  False! 


OUR    IDYL.  343 


Montezuma. 
Be  silent,  all!     I  need  no  words  to  prove 
Your  truth  and  love,  whose  blood  on  many  a  field 
Hath  flow'd  for  me.     Welcome  to  me  is  death, 
If  it  secure  the  common  happiness! 
And  thou,  O  Spirit!  who  art  but  the  slave 
Or  servant  of  One  mightier;  I  may 
Or  may  not,  as  it  listeth  me,  believe 
The  doom  thou  hast  pronounced.    Yet,  I  thank  thee. 
Henceforth  I  fain  would  learn  more  of  Him 
"Who  is  thy  master.     Now  go  to  Him ! 

(The  Spirit  disappears  amid  thunder  and  lightning  and  the 

tempest's  uproar.) 
r  r         / 


OUR  IDYL. 

BY  WILLIAM  R.  EYSTER. 

BAR  out  the  night !  bar  out  the  cold ! 

Bar  out  the  stormy  weather! 
And  whilst  the  moments  surge  along, 

Bead  in  the  coals  together.    ' 
'JLWJ:I  •uJflori?/'  ,9flO  ifiijjCl  !0 

At  first  we  talked  of  what  had  been, 

And  more  of  what  might  be; 
Awhile  she  softly  hummed  a  song 

Of  moonlight  and  the  sea. 
A  bit  we  both  all  silent  sat, 

Then  I  from  book  read  story 
Made  up,  as  such  things  often  are, 

Of  love  and  war  and  glory; 
Whilst  out  and  out  her  fingers  flew, 

As  nearer  ends  her  sewing. 
And  still  the  clock  ticked  slowly  on, 

And  still  the  coals  were  glowing. 

- 


344  OUR    IDYL. 

But  when,  at  last,  her  work  laid  by, 

Secure  from  each  beholder, 
I  found  her  cheek  so  close  to  mine, 

Her  brown  curls  swept  rny  shoulder; 
Her  lithe,  slim  hand,  inclosed  in  mine, 

Lay  light  as  airy  feather; 
And  thus  we,  whilst  the  hours  drift  by, 

Head  from  the  coals  together: 

"  I  see  grim  walls  of  castle  old, 

And  walks  and  groves  orne, 
With  grand  old  hills  that,  sloping  down, 

Seem  melting  in  the  bay. 
I  see  a  white  and  joyless  face, 

With  weary,  hungry  eyes, 
Look,  longing,  from  a  lattice,  east, 

To  see  the  darkness  rise. 
Along  the  sear  and  level  beach 

The  fishers'  boats  are  tied; 
Their  low  huts  shimrn'ring  on  the  shore, 

Their  nets  and  sails  spread  wide. 
Watch  now  the  redly  glowing  coals — 

These  old  scenes  change  to  new. 
So,  whilst  the  shadows  pass  before, 

Say  what  they  show  to  you." 

Low  drooped  her  head,  her  voice  came  soft 
As  bird-song  on  the  heather, 

Whilst,  from  the  scene  I  penciled  out, 
She  wove  this  tale  together: 

"  Fair  Maude  dwells  in  the  castle  grey, 

And  I  beside  the  sea; 
High  lords  and  ladies  all  are  they, 
Whilst  fisher-folks  are  we; 


OUIl    IDYL.  345 

But,  Maude,  my  heart  I  would  not  give, 

For  all  you  see  or  own, 
Since  mine  no  mortal  could  deceive, 

Whilst  yours  is  turned  to  stone. 

"  Fair  Maude  has  hands  so  small  and  white, 

That  shame  mine  own  so  rough; 
Fair  Maude  with  silk  and  gem  is  dight, 

Whilst  I  wear  coarsest  stuff; 
Yet,  Maude,  Ly  all  my  hopes  of  bliss, 

Our  ways  I  would  not  change! 
I  would  not  lose  a  life  like  this, 

Through  all  your  halls  to  range. 

"  Our  boys  are  shouting  on  the  shore, 

As  sail  the  boats  to  sea, 
Yet  every  night,  as  night  before, 

My  love  returns  to  me. 
But  you  alone  may  silent  sit, 

And  dream  what  may  not  be; 
The  old  care  changes  not  a  whit, 

Your  love  is  lost  to  thee. 

"  So  keep  your  gems  and  castle  gray, 

Maude,  daughter  of  the  Earl; 
Whilst  I'll  go  singing  all  the  day, 
A  happy  fisher's  girl. 

"  That  for  your  castles  !     But  there  comes 

To  me  a  wilder  dream : 
I  see  a  cold  and  stagnant  flood, 

And  corpses  in  the  stream — 
Corpses  with  blanch'd,  ah!  death-blanch'd  lips, 

And  staring,  hideous  eyes, 
Long,  tangled,  floating,  drenched  hair, 

And  leaden  breasts,  that  rise 
From  the  green  waves,  with  sullen  flash 


346  OUE    IDYL. 

And  phosphorescent  light, 
To,  onward  in  their  loathsome  grave, 

Go  surging  through  the  night. 
No  fringe  of  daylight  in  the  west 

Where  toss  the  angry  skies; 
But  far  off,  in  the  ragged  clouds, 

Dim  moonbeams  struggling  rise. 
A  wall  or  rocks  where  breakers  beat 

To  moanings  of  the  gale, 
And  lone,  on  the  distant  sea, 

Fleet  floats  a  phantom  sail. 

.     Mfd ! 
"  Dearest,  come  closer  I     Hold  me  fast  I 

Say  '  darling  '  once  again  I 
Yon  wild  arm'd  tide  that's  rushing  past 

"Would  bear  me  to  the  main  I 
Sweep  back  the  fears  that  dark  dream  brings, 

And  hold  me  from  that  sea — 
That  bitter,  bitter  death  in  life, 

To  live  away  from  thee. 
See  I     In  those,  redly  lowering  coals, 

I  know  not  what  they  mean, 
I  see  your  face  and  mine,  alas! 

I  see  a  gulf  between. 
Ah,  my!    You  ask  too  much  from  me, 

No  pictured  page  it  teems; 
How  can  I  trace  strange  visions  out, 

When  you  are  all  my  dreams  ? 
Waking  or  dreaming,  woe  or  weal, 

Howe'er  fate's  tide  may  roll, 
Thine  to  the  end  I  fain  would  be, 

And  give  you  all  my  soul ! " 

Wailed  out  these  words,  and  on  my  neck 

Plashed  drearily  her  tears, 
Whilst  'gainst  my  bosom  strong  I  felt 

The  surf-beat  of  her  fears. 


OUR    IDYL.  347 

"  Look  up,  dear  heart,  nor  idly  dream 

Of  woes  that  will  not  be, 
Nor  blind  your  eyes  with  tears  of  dread 

For  that  tempestuous  sea! 
Sweet  soul,  have  faith!    I  will  not  change, 

Till  heart  and  pulse  be  still; 
The  voice  that  now  my  spirit  wakes 

Fore'er  my  soul  must  thrill! 

"  Bound  thee  my  arms  are  truly  drawn, 

They  are  for  thee  alone, 
And  waves  of  fate,  I  breasting,  back, 

But  make  thee  more  my  own. 
Dream  then  upon  my  loyal  heart, 

But  not  of  doubts  and  fears; 
Dream  of  the  one  who  loves  you  best, 

Of  love  that  lasts  for  years; 
Dream  of  our  happy  psalm  of  life, 

Whose  song  is  just  begun. 
Henceforth,  no  waves  of  fate  can  part 

These  hearts,  forever  one." 

tiu-ioai  vtuli -l-iiif 'tf  joa  vroifii  .1 
As  sunburst  through  the  clouded  skies, 

Sweeps  back  the  stormy  weather, 
So  we,  at  last,  undoubting  read 

Our  fortunes  there  together. 


w 

>n 


^>9<J-hija  ci/iT 


348  A    REMARKABLE    CAREER. 


A  REMARKABLE  CAREER. 

BY  GEORGE  FRANCIS  TRAIN. 

WHAT  possible  use  can  be  made  of  the  literary  con 
tribution  of  a  man  who  never  committed  any  crime, 
and  yet  has  been  in  fourteen  jails — who  never  drank, 
smoked,  chewed,  lied,  stole,  or  cheated,  and  yet  has 
been  more  misrepresented,  more  misunderstood,  more 
outraged  than  any  man  on  record;  who  was  at  the  head 
of  three  great  mercantile  houses  in  America,  England 
and  Australia  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago;  who  built  a 
score  of  clipper  ships,  introduced  Concord  coaches,  rail 
ways  and  telegraphs  at  the  antipodes,  horse  railways  in 
Europe,  launched  the  Atlantic  and  Great  Western  Kail- 
way,  organized  the  Cr^dit-Mobilier,  built  the  Union 
Pacific  Railroad,  founded  the  system  of  railways  in 
Colorado  and  Nebraska,  built  a  hundred-room  hotel  in 
sixty  days,  and  raised  Omaha  from  an  Indian  village 
into  a  cosmopolitan  city,  and  yet  has  now  the  reputation 
of  being  "the  champion  lunatic  of  the  world."  Who  is 
neither  Christian  nor  Jew,  Mohammedan  nor  Infidel, 
who  hates  hypocrisy  and  loves  honor;  who  never  be 
longed  to  a  church,  party,  or  club;  who  never  held  office 
and  never  voted;  who  organized  Fenianism,  Commun 
ism,  and  Internationalism,  and  yet  was  never  a  Fenian, 
Communist,  or  Internationalist;  who  never  wronged 
man  nor  woman,  never  was  angry,  never  bore  any  one 
malice;  who  sincerely  regrets,  if,  in  hot  religious  or 
political  controversy,  he  has  unintentionally  injured 
any  one's  feelings;  who  apologizes  to  the  press  and  pub 
lic  men  for  the  hard  things  he  may  have  said  which  he 
did  not  mean;  who  never  experienced  the  sensations  of 
envy,  jealousy,  revenge  or  remorse;  whose  moral  char- 


A    REMARKABLE    CAREER.  349 

icter  no  one  ever  durst  question,  and  jet  who  has  been 
called  more  names  than  any  one  living  or  dead.  Who  has 
crossed  the  ocean  forty-seven  times,  been  three  times 
round  the  world,  can  say  "How  do  you  do?"  in  twenty 
languages,  has  published  a  score  of  books,  has  been 
praised  and  abused  in  ten  thousand  newspapers;  who 
decliues  to  earn  $40,000  a  year  on  the  lecture  stage. 
"Who  has  foreshadowed  all  the  great  events  of  the  world 
for  twenty  years;  who  received  one  thousand  square 
nominations  for  the  Presidency  from  one  thousand  Con 
ventions,  from  Puget  Sound  to  Florida,  on  his  Green 
back  platform  which  Peter  Cooper  stole;  who  feels  that 
he  is  two  hundred  years  old  in  knowledge,  and  yet  is 
so  young  he  can  only  find  companionship  with  children; 
and  has  evoluted  far  enough  to  understand  that  he 
knows  just  enough  to  appreciate  that  he  does  not  know 
anything;  whose  principles  are  such  he  cannot  shake 
hands  with  adults,  eat  animal  food,  remain  long  in-doors, 
visit  churches,  theaters  or  hotels;  whose  whole  food  con 
sists  of  a  bowl  of  boiled  rice,  or  a  baked  apple  and  a  cup  of 
coffee  twice  a  day;  who  actually  believes  that,  barring 
fate,  he  will  be  a  hale  young  man  at  the  next  Centennial; 
who  sees  nothing  but  sunshine  where  all  is  fog  to  others; 
who  holds  the  psychologic  remedy  for  our  national  dis 
ease,  yet  declines  to  shake  the  tree  before  the  fruit  is 
ripe;  whose  instinct  makes  him  autocrat  over  himself ; 
who  believes  that  he  is  the  born  chief  of  a  true  republic 
that  will  be  founded  in  America  when  the  Electoral 
College  is  exploded,  and  the  words  "American  citizen" 
stand  higher  than  that  of  Democrat  or  Republican? 


350  CRAWFORD'S  ORPHEUS. 


CRAWFORD'S    ORPHEUS. 

BY  Miss  ELIZABETH  P.  PEABODY. 

FOREVER  passeth  Beauty's  form, 

To  Nature's  deep  abyss; 
Not  always  Love,  unchanged  and  warm, 
Dares  with  his  lyre  old  Night  to  charm, 

And  win  the  faded  bliss. 

But  always  poet's  heart  believeth, 

"Whatever  Time  may  say,  - 
There  is  no  loss  but  song  retrieveth; 
He  is  a  coward  heart  that  leaveth 

The  light  of  Life — Death's  prey ! 

"  ^nrids^r  fil 

Blest  be  the  poet's  hand  that  toiled 

To  carve  in  lasting  stone, 
The  act  that  in  all  time  hath  foiled 
Despair's  terrific  power,  and  spoiled 

Destruction  of  its  own. 

Thus  ever  from  the  vulgar  day 

The  hero  shades  his  eyes; 
Peering  through  dim  obstruction's  sway, 
Perchance  upon  his  darkened  way 

The  cherished  form  may  rise ! 

He  sees  her  not!     And  what  though  low 

Lies  Cerberus,  overwrought? 
His  lyre  hath  quickened  Lethe's  flow, 
Cast  coolness  o'er  Cocytus'  glow — 

All  this  he  heedeth  not. 

He  only  knows  thou  art  not  won — 

The  "  perfect  good  and  fair." 
The  race  of  life  is  yet  to  run; 
The  only  deed  is  yet  undone, 

The  hero  still  must  dare ! 


BUSSIANS     AT     THE     SANDWICH     ISLANDS.      351 


EUSSIANS  AT  THE  SANDWICH  ISLANDS. 

BY  ALPHONSE  PINART. 

ANY  one  who  has  visited  Kanai,  the  most  northern 
island  of  the  Hawaiian  group,  will  remember  the  re 
mains  of  a  small  stone  fort  at  Hanalei,  and  earth-works 
at  the  entrance  to  the  harbors  of  Waimea  and  Hanalei. 
Although  covered  now  with  the  luxuriant  vegetation  of 
the  country,  enough  of  the  fort  is  still  visible  to  allow 
one  to  trace  its  outlines.  Very  few,  even  among  the  in 
habitants  of  the  island  of  Kanai,  dream  of  the  romance 
and  real  history  connected  with  the  erection  of  those 
works. 

In  1814,  the  ship  "Behring,"  belonging  to  the  Rus 
sian  Fur  Company,  was  wrecked  near  the  entrance  to 
the  harbor  of  Waimea,  and  her  cargo  was  plundered 
by  the  natives,  led  by  their  king.  News  of  the  ship 
wreck  having  reached  New  Archangel,  the  seat  of  the 
Russian  Fur  Company  on  the  northwest  coast  of  America, 
Governor  Baranoff  determined  to  send  a  commissioner 
to  the  king  of  the  Sandwich  Islands,  the  celebrated 
Kamehameha  I.  Dr.  George  Schaffer,  a  German  by 
birth,  who  had  been  attached  as  a  surgeon  to  one  of  the 
ships  sent  yearly  by  the  Company  around  the  world, 
was  directed  to  proceed  to  Oahu  on  board  the  Eussian 
ship  "Discovery."  According  to  the  instructions  re 
ceived  from  Governor  Baranoff,  Schaffer  was  to  act  as 
if  he  had  no  important  business  on  hand.  He  was  to 
exercise  his  profession  as  a  physician  and  collect  speci 
mens  in  natural  history.  In  a  very  short  time,  Schaffer 
was  on  friendly  terms  with  the  king.  He  was  even 
fortunate  enough  to  cure  him  and  his  wife  when  they 
were  sick.  This  made  him  a  still  greater  favorite.  At 
this  juncture,  he  thought  the  time  had  come  to  divulge 


352       RUSSIANS     AT     THE     SANDWICH     ISLANDS. 

to  Kamehameba  the  true  motive  of  his  visit  to  the 
Islands.  Kamehameha,  who  for  years  past  had  been 
endeavoring  to  seize  the  domains  of  all  the  smaller  kings 
in  the  group,  promised  his  assistance. 

Emboldened  by  the  promises  of  the  king,  Schaffer 
leaves  in  the  early  part  of  1816  for  Kanai.  The  king  of 
thafc  island,  Famalii,  who  was  in  mortal  fear  of  his  pow 
erful  neighbor,  Kamehameha,  acceded  to  the  demands 
of  the  doctor,  and  not  only  returned  all  that  was  left  of 
the  property  taken  from  the  wreck  of  the  "Behring," 
but  agreed  to  pay  for  everything  that  was  missing. 
Dr.  Schaffer,  seeing  the  good  disposition  of  the  king, 
thought  of  a  change  in  his  tactics.  What  if  he  should 
make  a  friend  of  Famalii,  and  put  him  and  his  small 
kingdom  under  the  protectorate  of  the  Czar  of  all  the 
Eussias  ?  No  sooner  thought  than  done.  The  papers 
were  drafted,  promises  made,  and  the  treaty  signed  by 
Famalii.  The  conditions  were,  on  the  part  of  Famalii: 
His  allegiance  to  the  imperial  crown;  the  privilege  of 
trading  in  sandal-wood  given  to  the  Russian  Fur  Com 
pany,  and  the  grant  of  large  tracts  of  land  in  the  best 
parts  of  the  island.  On  the  part  of  Dr.  Schaffer,  acting 
for  the  Eussian  Fur  Company,  the  conditions  were: 
To  furnish  Famalii  with  two  ships  of  war;  a  certain 
number  of  marines  and  sailors  to  man  said  ships,  and  a 
quantity  of  arms  and  ammunition.  The  articles  of  the 
treaty  being  signed  by  both  parties,  the  Eussian  flag  was 
solemnly  hoisted  at  Waimea  on  the  seventeenth  of  May, 
1817,  a  salute  was  fired  and  the  country  virtually  turned 
over  to  Schaffer.  Everything  went  smoothly  for  a  time, 
although  King  Kamehameha,  infuriated  at  the  conduct 
of  bis  former  friend,  and  the  American  whalers  then 
congregated  at  Oahu  and  Hawaii,  made  continual  threats 
of  war.  To  be  ready  for  any  emergency,  orders  were 
given  to  build  forts  at  the  two  most  important  harbors 


RUSSIANS     AT    THE    SANDWICH     ISLANDS.       353 

on  Kanai,  which  was  effectually  done.  Then  Schaffer 
bought  an  old  English  brig  and  fitted  it  with  guns. 
This  demonstration  of  force  cooled  down,  for  a  time, 
the  fiery  spirit  of  Kamehameha. 

But  soon  he  tried  his  hand  at  diplomacy;  he  sent 
messengers  of  peace  to  Famalii;  at  first  they  had  very 
little  success.  By  and  by,  however,  Famalii,  seeing  that 
the  promises  made  by  Dr.  Schaffer  were  not  fulfilled, 
began  to  doubt  his  sincerity.  The  sending  by  Kame 
hameha  of  a  fleet  of  war  vessels,  commanded  by  an 
American,  Adams,  for  the  avowed  purpose  of  invading 
Famalii's  territory,  dispelled  whatever  confidence  was 
left  in  the  mind  of  Famalii, 

Things  began  to  grow  worse  for  the  Russians,  threats 
being  continually  made  by  the  American  whalers  and 
traders  that  they  would  join  tho  Kanackas  to  drive  the 
intruders  away.  On  the  twenty-fifth  of  May,  1817, 
when  the  Russians  were  at  work,  a  sudden  attack  was 
made  on  them  and  the  forts,  their  houses  and  all  their 
property  were  seized.  The  Russians  were  then  placed 
on  board  the  ships  that  were  riding  at  anchor.  Schaffer 
barely  escaped  with  his  life,  in  a  boat  from  Hanalei, 
where  he  was  at  the  time  of  the  assault.  The  Kanackas 
had  cut  holes  in  his  boat,  and  he  was  hardly  half-way 
between  the  shore  and  the  ship  when  his  boat  sank,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  swim  toward  the  ship;  at  the  same 
time  the  Kanackas,  who  had  seen  that  their  stratagem 
had  failed,  fired  at  him.  He  got,  however,  safely 'on 
board  the  "  Myot-Kodiac,"  which  was  herself  in  a  sink 
ing  condition.  At  Oahu,  the  Kanacka  authorities  would 
not  allow  her  to  come  to  anchor  until  all  arms  and  am 
munition  had  been  surrendered.  Then  a  demand  was 
made  for  the  delivery  of  Dr.  Schaffer,  and  the  only 
thing  that  saved  his  life  was  the  opportune  arrival  of 
the  ship  "  Panther,"  of  Boston,  Captain  Lewis,  who 
23 


354  THE    DYING    BOY. 

took  him  on  board  hidden  in  a  barrel,  and  was  deaf 
to  all  demands  for  his  surrender.  From  Oahu  the  ship 
went  to  Canton,  and  thence  Dr.  Schaffer  proceeded  to 
Bussia.  Although  the  matter  of  the  protectorate  was 
taken  up  at  the  time  by  the  imperial  government,  no 
attempt  was  made  to  renew  the  ties  of  friendship  be 
tween,  the  two  countries. 


THE  DYING  BOY. 

BY  MRS.  WILLIAMS.  ROBINSON.    ("WARRLNGTON.") 

'T  WAS  eve.     The  beams  of  parting  day 

Gilded  the  earth;  the  shadows  gray 

Stole  from  their  haunts  by  woodland  stream, 

Like  the  dim  phantoms  of  a  dream. 

A  boy  lay  low;  upon  his  cheek 

Death's  hand  was  pressed;  his  forehead  meek 

"Was  marked  with  pain,  and  in  his  eye 

So  dark  and  clear,  there  seemed  to  lie 

A  shadow,  like  the  cloudlets  white 

That  dot  the  moonlit  blue  of  night! 

But  still  he  lay,  save  when  he  raised 

His  heavy  lids  and  fondly  gazed 

On  a  fair  face,  grown  sadly  dim 

With  anxious,  ceaseless  care  for  him. 

The  evening  waned;  with  boat-like  grace, 

The  moon  sailed  forth,  and  on  his  face 

She  shed  her  beams  like  silver  spray, 

And  washed  the  dews  of  death  away! 

From  his  young  eye  the  shadow  fled — 

A  lustre  o'er  his  brow  was  spread — 

His  outstretched  arms  a  welcome  spoke, 

"While  gladly  from  his  pale  lips  broke, 

A  gushing  sound,  like  the  mellow  chime 

Of  silver  bells  in  the  cool  night-time: 


JAMIE  fl.  BEGC-S, 


THE    DYING    BOY.  355 

"Oh,  mother!  see  there!  a  white-winged  boat, 

From  the  far-off  spirit-land; 
It  comes  like  a  lily-cup  afloat, 
Or  a  sea-bird  o'er  the  sand. 

"  My  sister  is  there,  and  father  too! 

He  beckons,  I  cannot  stay! 
And  shows  a  cross  to  my  eager  view, 
That  he  holds  to  guide  the  way. 

"  The  dove  that  we  lost  so  long  ago, 

Mies  over  my  sister's  head; 
The  one  that  unfurled  its  wings  of  snow, 
For  the  land  of  death,  you  said! 

"  And  music  around  them  seems  to  break, 

Like  sunshine  on  flowers  bright, 
"While  Cherub  forms  afar  in  their  wake, 
Make  a  living  line  of  light. 

"I  go,  dear  mother!  Oh!  do  not  weep, 

For  I  long  to  lay  my  hand 
In  my  sister's  dear,  and  fall  asleep, 
And  sail  to  the  Happy  Land. 

"  Do  you  know  when  we  staid  so  long  at  play, 

And  you  pined  to  see  your  own, 
You  came  to  us?     So  you'll  come  one  day, 
When  you're  tired  of  living  alone." 

Silent  in  death  was  the  music-strain; 

And  low  drooped  the  boy's  fair  head; 
For  the  silver  chain  was  rent  in  twain, 

And  the  white-winged  boat  had  fled. 

'T  was  autumn — the  snow-flakes  began  to  float — 

On  an  evening  calm  and  mild, 
The  mother  embarked  in  the  spirit-boat, 

And  followed  her  angel  child. 


356  PARLIAMENTARY. 


PAKLIAMENTAEY. 

BY  HENRY  J.  LATHAM. 

OLD  Squire  "Williams  was  a  politician.  He  had  been 
elected  police  magistrate  of  his  little  village  three  con 
secutive  times.  He  had  inhaled  the  judicial  atmos 
phere  to  such  an  extent  that  he  had  become  thoroughly 
imbued  with  the  spirit  of  law,  order  and  decorum, 
and  as  a  result,  he  would  sometimes  unconsciously 
attempt  to  conduct  his  household  affairs  in  the  strict 
parliamentary  manner  observed  in  public  meetings. 
For  instance,  if,  while  at  the  table,  his  little  boy 
Jimmy  would  ask  for  another  piece  of  pie,  the  old  gen 
tleman  would  sharply  answer,  "Come  to  order,  sir. 
The  chair  denies  your  request.  In  its  opinion,  your 
infantile  digestive  organs  would  be  materially  injured 
by  a  second  invasion  of  pie." 

"But,  pa,  while  you  were  looking  the  other  way, 
Mamie  reached  over  and  hooked  my  pie." 

"Your  point  is  not  well  taken,  sir.  If  your  relative 
deliberately  purloined  your  pastry,  you  should  have 
referred  the  matter  to  the  executive  committee  of  this 
establishment,  consisting  of  your  mother  and  myself." 

"Eh?". . .  .and  the  boy  would  begin  to  cry. 

"Come  now,  young  man;  none  of  that.  If  the  de 
cision  of  the  chair  cannot  be  complied  with  without  a 
tearful  demurrer  on  your  part,  why,  I  will  declare  this 
meeting  adjourned,  and  you  and  I  and  a  big  strap,  for 
about  ten  minutes,  will  go  into  executive  session  in  the 
woodshed." 

This  threat  would  have  the  effect  of  quieting  the  un 
ruly  member. 

Last  summer  the  Squire's  wife  died.    After  mourning 


PARLIAMENTAftY.  357 

for  a  reasonable  time,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
he  would  like  to  have  another  help-mate.  So,  one  after 
noon,  he  sat  down  in  his  office  and  wrote  out  the  follow 
ing  preamble  and  resolution: 

"  Whereas,  in  consequence  of  the  death  of  the  late 
Mrs.  Williams,  our  bosom  yearns  for  the  companionship 
of  another  loving  sympathizer  of  the  feminine  gender; 
and, 

"Whereas,  we  are  convinced  that  another  motherly 
female  is  needed  in  this  establishment,  to  place  the 
soothing  hand  of  affection  upon  our  often  heated  brow, 
to  sew  on  our  buttons,  assuage  our  heart-burnings,  and 
give  our  poor  motherless  children  an  occasional  spank 
ing;  and, 

"Whereas,  we  have  in  our  mind's  eye  a  fascinating 
young  lady,  who,  we  have  reason  to  believe,  would  be 
only  too  happy  to  accept  these  duties;  therefore  be  it 

"Besolved,  that  we  form  ourself  into  a  Committee 
of  One,  for  the  purpose  of  asking  this  young  lady  if  she 
will  marry.  We  entrust  the  said  committee  with  full 
power  to  act  in  the  premises,  and  report  as  soon  as 
possible."  Three  days  later  this  eccentric  individual 
again  sat  at  his  desk  and  penned  the  following:  "The 
committee  to  whom  was  referred  the  duty  of  ascertaining 
the  state  of  a  certain  young  lady's  feelings  on  the  sub 
ject  of  matrimony,  beg  leave  to  report: 

"First — That  we  called  at  the  residence  of  the  afore 
said  young  lady,  and  Avere  met  at  the  gate,  not  by  the 
young  lady,  but  by  a  ferocious  canine  of  the  bull-dog 
species.  The  aforesaid  bull-dog  probably  mistook  us 
for  a  book-agent,  and  in  his  zeal  to  prevent  the  sale  of 
literature,  he  attacked  us  in  our  rear,  and  deliberately 
proceeded  to  breakfast  on  the  juicy  portion  of  your 
committee. 


358  PARLIAMENTARY. 

"  Second — That  this  proceeding  being  entirely  foreign 
to  our  desires,  we  resisted  the  man-eating  propensities 
of  the  aforesaid  animal,  and  would  have  dispatched  him, 
had  not  the  young  lady  herself,  at  this  juncture,  ap 
peared  upon  the  scene.  She  induced  the  ravenous 
creature  to  relinquish  his  mouthful  of  committee, 
excused  the  bull-dog,  and  invited  us  in. 

"  Third — That  we  entered  the  parlor,  placed  a  hand 
kerchief  over  the  torn  portion  of  our  pantaloons,  and 
delicately  broached  the  object  of  our  visit. 

"Fourth — That  the  young  lady,  in  a  freezing  manner 
informed  us  that  we  might  discontinue;  she  never  in 
tended  to  marry;  she  was  too  young  to  marry;  she  loved 
another;  she  wouldn't  marry  a  red-headed  man  anyhow. 

"Fifth — That  we  persisted,  when  the  young  lady  in 
formed  us  there  was  no  use  in  arguing  the  question — 
her  mind  was  made  up,  and  if  we  did  not  immediately 
take  our  departure,  her  big  brother,  who  was  in  the 
next  room  making  preparations  to  go  hunting  for  rab 
bits,  would  be  called  in,  and  he  would  be  most  happy 
to  go  gunning  for  your  committee  with  number  BB 
duck-shot. 

"Sixth — That  your  committee  took  the  hint  and 
sloped.  We  therefore  beg  to  be  discharged,  for  we  will 
never  go  again  on  any  such  experiments.  You  may 
hereafter  cool  your  own  brow,  assuage  your  own  heart 
burnings,  and  do  your  own  spanking.  In  conclusion  we 
would  ask  if  you  can  suggest  an  effectual  remedy  for 
hydrophobia?" 

"All,"  said  the  squire,  "in  favor  of  adopting  this 
report  will  raise  their  hands." 

The  squire's  hand  goes  up.  The  meeting  is  adjourned 
sine  die. 


GATHER    IN    THE    BOYS.  359 


GATHEK  IN  THE  BOYS. 

BY  MRS.  JOHN  MCHENRY. 

YES,  gather  in  the  boys,  men, 

And  teach  them  manly  ways; 

Remember  you  were  boys  once, 

In  younger,  happier  days. 

Their  boyhood  days  must  soon  be  o'er,  and  they  must  take 

your  place, 

To  shoulder  up  life's  weary  cares  and  run  life's  weary  race. 
Each  little  waif  that  roams  around  the   city's   thronging 

mart, 

Must  one  day  stand  for  good  or  ill,  with  good  or  evil  heart, 
To  point  the  way  to  other  boys  who  will  come   in  their 

stead, 
And  guide  our  glorious  nation  when  you're  numbered  with 

the  dead. 

Boys  will  be  boys,  and  every  one, 
However  wild  he  be, 
Somebody  loved  him  in  the  days 
Of  helpless  infancy. 
Then  mothers,  in  this  happy  land,  O!  give  each  one  your 

mite, 

To  gather  in  the  homeless  boys  and  guide  them  in  the  right. 
And  God  will  bless  your  charity,  for  "  after  many  days/' 
The  bread  you  cast  upon  the  sea,  returns  in  many  ways. 


360  BAD    BOYS. 


BAD  BOYS. 

BY  DR.  MARY  P.  SAWTELLE. 

THE  average  boy  lias  a  hard  time  in  tins  world.  He 
gets  too  many  kicks  and  cuffs  and  rude  rebuffs.  He  is 
rarely  treated  with  common  civility.  He  is,  however, 
a  good  imitator,  showing  genius  in  his  masterly  efforts 
at  playing  for  even.  If  no  opportunity  offers  itself  to  be 
rude  to  the  person  who  gave  him  the  last  rebuff,  he 
never  stops  until  he  has  been  ugly,  or  actually,  mean  to 
the  next  dozen  persons  with  whom  he  comes  in  contact; 
and  this  gives  him  little  time  to  be  good. 

Grown  people  are  rarely  ready  to  confess  that  they 
have  been  bad  to  the  boys.  This  is  not  natural ;  they 
only  complain  that  the  boys  are  bad  to  them.  All  boys 
are  ''bad  boys,"  generally  speaking,  and  everybody 
thinks  they  should  be  restrained;  so  we  scold  them, 
cuff  them,  pull  their  ears,  whip  them,  send  them  to  bed 
supperless,  and  impose  countless  other  inflictions  upon 
them.  The  boys,  in  turn,  are  vigilant  in  eluding  chas 
tisement.  Every  stratagem  is  employed  to  establish 
their  innocence;  but  they  are  punished.  There  was  a 
period  in  their  younger  boyhood,  when  they  stood  upon 
their  dignity,  denying  any  malicious  intent  to  do  wrong; 
but  they  have  been  punished  so  much  and  often,  that 
they  begin  to  distrust  themselves,  and,  like  everybody 
else,  believe  in  tho  innate  depravity  of  childhood,  and 
give  up  entirely  trying  to  be  good.  All  this  time  the 
poor  fellow  has  one  faithful  friend — his  mother — on 
whom  he  can  rely  in  the  hour  of  trial.  However  bad 
all  other  boys  may  be,  she  knows  liar  boy  is  good. 
The  mother's  love  for  her  boy,  and  the  man's  love  for 
his  mother  are  the  two  holiest  of  all  earth's  loves;  they 


BAD    BOYS.  361 

are  pure,  and  produce  more  good  and  less  evil  than  all 
other  loves.  The  mother  has  so  much  faith  in  her  boy, 
that  she  is  half  inclined  to  believe  there  may  be  just  the 
least  bit  of  good  in  other  boys  with  whom  she  is  ac 
quainted.  The  real  bad  boys  live  on  the  other  block, 
or  over  in  the  adjoining  neighborhood. 

But  this  stage  of  boyhood  is  not  nearly  so  hazardous 
as  the  next,  when  boys  almost  forget  that  they  have  a 
mother;  when  they  get  out  into  the  world  and  meet 
folly,  evil  and  vice  continually.  They  learn  to  smoke, 
swear,  cheat,  lie,  steal;  listen  to  obscene  stories,  run 
away  from  home,  keep  late  hours  on  the  street-corners, 
drink  a  little,  visit  disreputable  places — in  short,  they  go 
through  the  programme  of  boyhood  vices  some  way. 
If  they  have  the  physical  strength  to  endure  all  this, 
presently  reason  begins  to  assert  itself,  and  the  boy 
gives  way  to  the  mastery  of  the  man.  One  vice  is  dis 
carded  to-day,  one  folly  escaped,  and  so  on  to  the  end  of 
the  chapter,  until  he  stands  erect,  grand  and  noble, 
warding  off  vice  and  temptation  like  bullets  in  the  thick 
battle.  About  one  third  come  out  of  the  conflict  of 
boyhood  thus  victoriously — one  third  only;  two  thirds 
allow  popular  vices  to  cling  to  them  for  life,  or  sink  into 
early  graves.  Every  boy  can  restrain  himself  and  be 
come  a  man,  a  citizen,  worthy  of  this  great  republic  in 
which  we  live,  and  so  make  it  a  better  place  for  the  next 
generation  of  boys. 


362  HOW    HE    PROVED    HER    AFFECTION. 


HOW  HE  PKOYED  HEK  AFFECTION. 

BY  HARRY  ENTON. 

SILVERY  peals  of  laughter  rang  out  through  the  wooded 
glens  of  Marbledale,  as  the  Wren  girls,  Gertie  and 
Alice,  wandered  over  the  greensward,  plucking  wood 
violets  and  pansies  and  merrily  chaffing  each  other. 

"Do  you  know,  Alice,"  said  Gertie,  who  was  fully 
two  years  the  junior  of  her  stately  sister,  "I  have  an 
idea  that  William  Brown  thinks  a  greatdeal  of  you?" 

"Gertie!"  petulantly  interrupted  Alice,  a  very  pretty 
frown  on  her  face,  "do  cease  rattling  on  with  your  non 
sense.  The  idea  of  papa's  gardener  falling  in  love  with 
me!" 

"And  that  isn't  the  worst  of  it,"  persisted  the  saucy 
Gertie,  "my  sister  Alice  has  shown  an  unusual  amount 
of  liking  for  the  young  man  in  question.  Why  Alice, 
there's  nothing  awful  about  it.  When  I  look  at  his  deep 
blue,  laughing  eyes,  his  tall  robust  form,  his  clear 
ruddy  cheek,  and  hear  his  musical  laughter,  I  am  al 
most  tempted  to  set  my  cap  for  him." 

"Gertie,  you  are  too  provoking!"  exclaimed  Alice, 
and  with  scarlet  cheeks,  she  picked  up  her  skirts  and 
ran  away  toward  the  house,  while  Gertie  laughed  mer 
rily. 

"  She  doesn't  know  her  own  heart,"  Gertie  murmured 
to  herself;  "  Oh  if  she  only  knew;  if  she  only  knew!" 

These  girls  were  the  daughters  of  a  farmer  who  had 
become  enriched,  some  two  years  previously,  by  a  sud 
den  windfall  of  fortune.  Gertie  and  her  sister,  both 
pretty  girls,  had  pleaded  to  live  in  the  city,  and  their 
doting  father  had  humored  them.  The  fashionable  life 
to  which  they  had  been  introduced  in  the  city,  had 


HOW    HE    PROVED    HER    AFFECTION.  363 

sorely  tried  these  yonng,  pure-hearted  girls,  but  with 
intelligence  and  tact,  they  had  soon  learned  the  ins  and 
outs  of  the  Leau  monde  existence. 

Gertie  it  had  left  no  effect  upon,  but  with  the  roman 
tic  Alice  there  was  wrought  a  change.  She  had  dreamed 
of  becoming  a  leader  in  society,  and  her  ambition  might 
have  smothered  the  higher  and  purer  thoughts  of  her 
young  life,  had  it  not  been, — but  we  must  not  anticipate. 
Three  months  had  passed  away  since  they  had  returned 
to  their  pleasant  country-seat.  Gertie  was  as  happy  as 
a  lark,  but  Alice  longed  for  society. 

She  passed  the  time  thinking  over  her  triumphs  of 
the  last  season,  and  in  devising  many  and  many  a  plan 
which  should  subdue  and  bring  to  her  feet  a  certain 
heart,  that  she  had  sought  in  vain  to  captivate.  We 
must  not  forget  to  state  that  she  often  upbraided  her 
pride,  when  she  found  her  thoughts  resting  upon  a  cer 
tain  somebodj7  who  was  not  in  her  set.  In  vain  did 
the  proud  Alice  avert  her  gaze  and  seek  to  deafen  her 
ears.  A  pair  of  expressive  blue  eyes,  a  cheek  ruddy 
from  toil,  a  full,  broad  brow,  darkened  from  exposure 
to  wind  and  sun,  and  a  tall,  graceful  form  would  rise  up 
before  her.  Her  ear  would  listen  for  a  light,  quick 
footstep;  her  heart  would  thrill  at  the  most  careless  word 
uttered  by  that  voice.  In  vain  she  tried  to  escape  from 
this  spell.  Like  the  struggling  fly  in  the  spider's  web, 
each  unhappy  effort  only  tightened  the  strands.  And 
who  was  he  that  caused  these  strange  emotions?  Her 
father's  gardener !  but  then  you  know  it  is  proverbial 
that  "love  is  blind." 

Every  day  Alice  discovered  in  William  Brown  some 
noble  sentiment — some  lofty  attribute.  Every  day  the 
grace  and  elegance  of  his  form  increased  in  her  eyes. 
She  sough b  to  escape  from  this  strange  fascination,  but 
her  efforts  to  free  herself  only  increased  its  power. 


364     HOW  HE  PEOVED  HER  AFFECTION. 

"When  will  this  folly,  this  madness  cease?"  she  said 
to  herself  one  evening  as  she  sat  by  the  open  window, 
holding  a  letter  in  her  hand,  and  listening  to  the  gar 
dener's  rich  voice  as  he  sang  to  her  sister.  * '  When  will 
it  end?" 

Well  might  Alice  Wren  ask  herself  that  question,  for 
the  letter  she  held  in  her  hands,  was  from  one  who 
had  once  occupied  a  place  in  her  thoughts  to  the  exclu 
sion  of  everything  else.  It  was  from  Clermont  Payne, 
the  young  man  she  had  learned  to  love  during  the  pre 
vious  winter,  and  the  letter  contained  an  offer  of  his 
heart  and  hand ! 

Two  months  since,  how  that  proud  heart  would  have 
exulted  as  she  read  those  lines,  so  deeply  expressive  of 
a  noble,  generous  affection!  But  her  father's  gardener 
had  won  her  love.  None  could  ever  command  her  re 
spect,  her  sincere  admiration,  more  than  Clermont 
Payne  had  done,  and  his  position  in  life  was  that  which 
she  would  want  her  husband  to  occupy.  Now  the  manly 
declaration  brought  agony  to  her  heart;  she  felfc  that 
she  could  never  drive  the  gardener  from  her  bosom. 
She  felt  that  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  grant  what 
Clermont  had  asked. 

William  Brown's  joyous  laughter  rang  in  her  ears, 
and  her  heart  fluttered.  She  leaned  her  head  upon  her 
hand.  Could  the  hand  be  given  without  the  heart? 
Pride  asked  the  question,  faintly  at  first,  but  as  the 
moments  sped  by,  it  spoke  in  a  louder  tone,  and  at 
length  an  answer  to  the  letter  was  written,  but  Alice 
durst  not  trust  herself  to  peruse  the  words  she  penned. 
All  night  long  she  sat  at  the  window,  her  dark  eyes 
gating  dreamily  out  upon  the  moonlit  scene,  trying  to 
still  the  voice  of  her  heart;  seeking  to  make  pride  her 
guide,  and  crushing  affection.  The  young  lady  had  not 


HOW    HE    PROVED    HER    AFFECTION.  365 

risen  from  her  seat,  when  Gertie,  fair  and  smiling  as 
the  morning  which  was  looking  from  the  rosy  east, 
entered  her  chamber,  attired  for  her  accustomed  ram 
ble,  and  Alice,  to  hide  the  perturbation  of  her  manner, 
hastened  to  go  with  her. 

The  flowers  were  just  lifting  their  eyes  of  dew  toward 
the  sun,  and  turning  their  blushing  cheeks  toward  the 
breeze,  when  the  young  ladies  passed  through  the  neat 
garden  and  entered  the  pleasant  wood  beyond.  The 
happy,  younger  sister  laughed  with  the  flowers  and  sang 
with  the  birds,  but  Alice  could  not  join  in  her  mirth. 

"  My  Edward  will  be  here  to-day,"  said  the  younger 
sister,  "and  I  must  gather  some  flowers  for  my  hair. 
William  says  we  shall  find  the  sweetest  by  the  left  bank 
of  the  brook,  and  he  also  says  that  you  must  bring  him 
back  a  bouquet.  I  gave  him  my  promise  that  you 
would  so  do.  He  is  a  good  fellow,  but  I  think  he  pre 
sumes  a  great  deal.  I  do  believe  that  he  aspires  to 
your  hand." 

Alice  blushed  painfully,  but  her  ears  drank  in  the 
words  thirstily;  pride  grew  weak,  and  the  voice  of  her 
heart  was  strong  and  joyous. 

In  silence  the  sisters  returned  to  the  house,  and 
Alice,  hastening  to  her  room,  tore  up  the  letter  which 
had  been  designed  for  Olermont  Payne.  What  a  load 
of  misery  did  that  act  lift  from  her  heart,  and  how 
lightly  danced  the  little  feet  as  she  ran  back  to  the  hall 
to  arrange  her  flowers  in  bouquets !  How  lovely  she 
looked,  with  the  hue  of  the  rose  on  her  cheeks!  White 
flowers  were  gleaming  amid  the  dark  hair,  and  sprays 
twined  among  her  glossy  curls. 

"What  a  lovely  flower  she  is  herself!"  murmured 
William  Brown,  as  he  looked  in  at  the  open  door. 
"  The  fairest  and  sweetest  rose  that  ever  bloomed." 


366     HOW  HE  PROVED  HER  AFFECTION. 

Perhaps  Alice  imagined  what  was  in  his  heart,  for 
the  rose-tint  deepened  on  her  clear  cheek,  and  her  fin 
gers  trembled  so  much  as  the  young  man  drew  near 
her,  and  in  a  low  whisper  begged  that  the  beautiful 
cluster  of  rosebuds  he  had  bound  together  with  a 
branch  of  myrtle,  might  be  placed  amid  the  bouquet 
she  was  arranging,  that  she  could  hardly  retain  the 
flowers  her  hand  had  closed  upon.  But  there  was  no 
reproof  on  her  lips,  and  as  the  gardener  looked  down 
into  her  beautiful  eyes,  BO  expression  could  he  see  of 
anger  or  contempt. 

"  Give  me  a  little  flower,  something  that  will  speak 
of  you." 

The  lady  said,  "  "William,  there  is  nothing  I  may 
withhold  from  you." 

"  Alice!  "  cried  out  Gertie,  who,  to  the  young  lady's 
astonishment,  though  not  to  that  of  the  gardener,  stood 
beside  her;  ' '  can  it  be  possible  ?  "What  are  you  think 
ing  of,  my  sister?  Where  is  your  pride,  your  ambition, 
your  — " 

Gertie  could  restrain  her  mirth  no  longer,  and  her 
peals  of  joyous  laughter  brought  her  father  into  the 
hall,  and  the  twinkle  in  the  old  gentleman's  eyes 
told  plainly  enough  that  he  fully  understood  and  ap 
proved  the  position  of  affairs,  and  his  mirth  was  as  loud 
as  Gertie's. 

When  he  saw  the  deep  distress  of  his  daughter, 
whose  hand,  though  she  struggled  to  free  herself,  the 
gardener  would  not  release,  he  spoke  to  her: 

"Do  not  flutter  so,  my  daughter,"  he  said;  "you 
have  my  hearty  approval." 

Alice  lifted  her  head  and  regarded  her  father  with 
surprise  and  gratitude.  The  old  gentleman  laughed 
gleefully. 


THE    BETHLEHEM     SONG.  367 

"Alice,"  lie  said,  "you  have  been  cleverly  deceived, 
and  by  all  of  us.  I  \vill  not  say  that  this  young  man 
was  the  originator  of  the  plot,  but  your  reception  of 
him  when  he  came  to  this  house  suggested  the  plan  to 
him,  and  we,  Gertie  and  myself,  have  done  all  we  could 
to  help  the  plan  along." 

"And,'7  broke  in  Gertie,  "if  you  are  displeased,  you 
must  divide  your  anger  among  us  all,  or,  what  would  be 
better,  forgive  us  all,  and  blame  only  your  own  eyes. 
For  look,  my  dear  sister :  should  this  young  man  hide 
his  brown  curls  beneath  the  black  wig  he  once  wore 
when  sickness  had  robbed  his  head  of  its  natural  cover 
ing;  should  he  conceal  his  eyes  by  colored  glasses; 
should  his  sun-imbrowned  cheek  become  pale  again — " 

"Oh!"  shrieked  Alice,  her  eyes  fixed  wonderingly 
upon  her  lover, — "it  is  Clermont  Payne!" 

"Forgive  me,"  whispered  her  lover;  "you  will  not 
chide  me  now  that  you  have  both  lovers  in  one.  You 
cannot  regret  William  Brown — " 

"I  forgive  all,"  whispered  the  happy  girl;  " but  why 
did  you  deceive  me,  Clermont  ?  " 

"To  prove  your  love  for  me,"  he  said.  "  And  Alice, 
dear,  you  know  that  '  all 's  fair  in  love  and  war ! ' ' 


THE  BETHLEHEM  SONG. 

BY  EEV.  DR.  S.  DRYDEN  PHELPS. 

No  song  was  ever  heard, 

No  gladsome  voice  or  word, 
Since  broke  o'er  earth  the  blest  primeval  morn, 

Like  the  celestial  sound 

That  swept  the  air  around, 
O'er  Bethlehem's  plains,  the  night  that  Christ  was  born, 


368  THE     BETHLEHEM     SONG. 

Half-dreaming  by  the  rocks, 

The  shepherds  watched  their  flocks, 

But  woke,  in  wonder  rapt,  the  song  to  hear, 
As  through  the  sky-roof  riven, 
The  angel  flashed  from  heaven — 

A  messenger  of  mingled  awe  and  fear. 

Fear  not!  the  angel  said, 

But  joyful  be  instead; 
Tidings  of  gladness  and  delight  I  bring: 

And  not  alone  for  you 

This  revelation  new — 
O'er  all  the  earth  the  rapturous  joy  shall  ring! 

This  day  in  swathing  folds, 

The  humble  manger  holds 
The  Lord,  Messiah,  Saviour,  born  for  you. 

As  thither  ye  repair, 

To  David's  City  fair, 
The  wondrous  sign  shall  meet  your  eager  view. 

Then  round  the  angel  bright, 

A  host  in  heavenly  light, 
Confirmed  the  truth  in  notes  of  highest  praise. 

Glory  to  God!  they  sang; 

Peace  and  good-will !  they  rang 
In  chorus  grander  than  all  earth-born  lays. 

The  Lord  had  come  to  men; 

The  Lord  will  come  again — 
Is  coming  now  in  blest  Salvation's  car. 

Dark  lands!  the  joy  receive; 

Sad  souls!  your  burdens  leave, 
Transfigured  by  the  Bethlehem  Morning  Star! 


FIXEDNESS    OF    PUEPOSE.  369 

FIXEDNESS  OF  PUKPOSE. 

BY  JOHN  WATTS  DE  PEYSTER. 

A  FRENCH  analytical  writer  has  come  to  the  conclusion 
that,  out  of  the  thirteen  or  fourteen  hundreds  of  millions 
of  inhabitants  upon  the  earth,  not  more  than  some  ten 
thousand  (about  one  in  a  million)  think  for  themselves. 
This  is  a  startling  assertion,  but  it  may  be  approxi 
mately  true.  From  this  comparatively  small  class  of 
original  thinkers,  or  individuals  who  insist  upon  doing 
their  own  thinking,  step  forth  the  great  men  of  the 
world.  Greatness  does  not  consist  in  the  accumulation 
of  enormous  fortunes,  though  it  may  be  shown  in  ex 
pending  them  for  the  diffusion  of  happiness  and  the 
accomplishment  of  grand  purposes  for  the  benefit  of 
mankind.  The  truly  great  men  of  this  world  have  not 
been  millionaires,  and  God  has  rarely  selected  his 
agents  from  the  opulent  classes.  In  this  country,  espe 
cially,  those  who  have  done  the  most  for  humanity  have 
looked  to  the  future,  and  not  to  the  pecuniary  emolu 
ments,  for  their  reward. 

The  inordinate  thirst  for  money  is  the  curse  of  this 
epoch  and  of  this  country,  and  it  probably  will  be  its 
ruin.  It  is  well  to  ponder  on  the  following  remarks  of 
Davies,  the  historian  of  the  "  Seven  United  States  of 
Holland " — once  the  arbiter  of  Europe,  the  asylum  of 
human  thought,  the  refuge  (like  the  Thirteen  United 
States  of  America)  of  the  persecuted  of  the  world : 

"From  her  place  of  pride  amoDg  nations  Holland  has 
now  fallen,  and  in  the  history  of  her  fall  may  be  read  a 
useful  though  melancholy  lesson  to  every  free  and  com 
mercial  people,  to  be  011  the  watch  lest  they  mistake  the 
heat  of  partisan  spirit  for  the  zeal  of  patriotism;  and  lest 
they  seek  for  national  wealth  as  the  end,  and  not  the  means, 
of  national  greatness." 
24 


370  FIXEDNESS    OF    PURPOSE. 

God   takes  no  account  of  men  or  money,  in  accom 
plishing  his  purposes. 

As  one  instance,  consider  the  losses  of  Napoleon, 
during  the  Russian  campaign  of  1812;  to  which  add 
the  Russian  casualties,  and  the  swallowing  up  of  count 
less  riches  in  the  flames  of  Moscow.  The  total  tran 
scends  all  accounts  of  men  and  material  destroyed  by 
other  like  catastrophes.  The  armies  of  Napoleon  had 
become  the  enemies  of  peace  and  progress.  Their 
work  was  done;  they  were  ripe  for  the  sickle  of  time; 
they  perished.  The  same  remarks  and  rules  apply  not 
only  to  destructions  accomplished  by  man,  but  to  de 
vastations  due  to  cataclysms  of  nature,  the  exertions  of 
the  latent  powers  of  nature.  Antioch  was  visited  by 
an  earthquake,  in  consequence  of  which  two  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  persons  perished.  Sixty  thousand 
human  beings  lost  their  lives  in  six  minutes  at  Lisbon. 

Reflection  will  demonstrate  that  the  object  of  the 
life-long  struggle  of  most  men  is  money;  but  money,  as 
already  stated,  seems  to  be  of  110  moment  whatever 
with  the  Almighty;  certainly  not  in  the  carrying  out  of 
his  designs.  A  tempest,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Invin 
cible  Armada,  consigns  to  the  deep  a  fleet  whose  pre 
paration  has  exhausted  a  decade's  productiveness  of 
the  richest  mines  and  the  efforts  of  a  mighty  monarchy; 
a  financial  panic  eliminates  more  than  the  equivalent  of 
the  national  war  debt,  incurred  in  curing  a  social  evil 
which  might  have  been  remedied  long  since,  by  the 
simple  concurrence  of  fixedness  of  purpose  and  the 
counsels  of  common  sense.  A  volcanic  eruption,  as  of 
Vesuvius,  in  a  few  hours,  buries  the  accumulations  of 
centuries  of  art  and  commerce.  All  these  sudden  anni 
hilations  of  almost  incalculable  treasure,  do  not  stop  for 
an  instant  the  general  progress  of  humanity;  they  rather 


FIXEDNESS    OF    PURPOSE.  371 

develop  its  forces.  They  are  susceptible  of  facile  rem 
edy,  and  in  tlie  aggregation  of  new  masses  of  wealth, 
they  are  speedily  forgotten.  Wealth,  like  nature,  rap 
idly  heals  the  wounds  of  violence  and  conceals  the  ruins 
of  the  most  fearful  convulsions. 

The  men,  however,  Avho  amid  these  throes  rise  supe 
rior  to  them,  and  show  themselves  greater  in  the  exertion 
of  mind,  will  live  when  the  remembrance  of  the  mighty 
spasms,  which  brought  them  to  the  front,  are  lost  in  the 
multitudes  of  similar  terrible  occurrences.  Take  as 
examples,  Drake,  Kaleigh,  Lincoln  and  Pliny.  "All 
bodies,"  says  Pascal,  "the  firmament,  the  stars,  the 
earth  and  its  kingdoms,  are  not  worth  the  human  mind, 
for  it  knows  all  these  and  itself,  while  bodies  know 
nothing." 

Plato,  Archimedes,  Copernicus,  and  Galileo  gather 
brilliancy  with  successive  generations.  Galileo  was  a 
contemporary  of  the  most  illustrious  bankers  of  the  age, 
named  Fugers.  How  few  have  ever  heard  of  this  family 
of  money-makers  and  lenders !  How  few  that  do  not  know 
something  about  the  persecuted  but  immortal  astrono 
mer!  "After  all,"  says  Leigh  Hunt,  in  his  autobiog 
raphy,  "I  know  not  whether  the  most  interesting  sight, 
in  Florence,  is  not  a  little  mysterious  bit  of  something 
like  parchment,  which  is  shown  you  under  a  glass  case 
in  the  principal  public  library.  It  stands  pointing  to 
wards  heaven,  and  is  one  of  the  fingers  of  Galileo !  The 
hand  to  which  it  belonged  is  supposed  to  have  been  put 
to  the  torture  for  ascribing  motion  to  the  earth,  and  the 
finger  is  now  worshipped  for  having  proved  the  motion. 
Let  no  suffering  reformer's  pen  misgive  him.  If  his 
cause  is  good,  justice  will  be  done  at  some  future  day." 

Let  not  soldiers  dream  that  their  imaginary  immor 
tality  of  renown  can  compare  with  the  lustre  of  the  real 


372  FIXEDNESS    OF    PURPOSE. 

benefactors  of  their  kind.  Joab  was  the  general-in- 
chief  of  David,  second  king  of  Israel.  His  remarkable 
exploits  are  dwelt  upon  at  length  in  the  Bible,  the  most 
universally  studied  book  ever  written.  In  spite  of  this, 
how  few  remember  Joab,  while  the  name  of  his  master, 
the  sweet  Psalmist  of  Israel,  is  daily  on  the  tongues  and 
in  the  thoughts  of  millions. 

Most  great  men  have  been  self-made,  because  there 
is  no  royal  road  to  learning.  The  few  great  rulers  in 
the  history  of  the  world,  were  sufferers  or  workers  to  a 
degree  which  would  appall  the  mass  of  ordinary  men; 
witness  such  rulers  as  Alfred  of  England,  "William  of 
Normandy,  Gustavus  of  Sweden,  Frederic  of  Prussia. 
There  are  some  men  that  not  only  study  in  books,  but 
constantly  learn  from  nature  in  their  daily  walks;  while 
others  pass  through  life  without  noticing  anything,  ex 
cept  the  few  objects  which  minister  to  their  selfish  en 
joyment.  A  habit  of  attention  is  another  secret  of 
human  success,  combined  with  a  keen  observation  of 
occurrences. 

"The  wise  man's  eyes,"  said  Solomon,  "are  in  his 
head;  but  the  fool  walketh  in  darkness."  Even  memory 
is  attention,  and  the  latter  is  one  of  the  most  important 
elements  of  fixedness  of  purpose.  Attention,  or  will,  is 
the  most  important  impressor  of  knowledge  upon  the 
brain.  It  acts  like  the  sun  upon  the  photographer's 
plate. 

Pascal,  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  mathematicians, 
conquered  geometry  without  any  assistance.  In  like 
manner,  Gassendi,  one  of  the  most  learned  of  the  phi 
losophers,  and  most  philosophic  of  the  learned  men  of 
his  age,  laid  the  basis  of  his  astronomical  renown.  The 
vapor  escaping  from  a  tea-kettle  suggested  to  Watt  the 
idea  of  the  steam-engine,  and  that  was  the  origin  of  the 


FIXEDNESS    OF    PURPOSE.  373 

motor  which  now  does  the  work  of  the  civilized  world. 
A  thousand  examples  might  be  cited  of  the  triumph  of 
the  union  of  mental  labor,  observation,  and  fixedness 
of  purpose.  This  proposition  refers  to  no  single  branch 
of  art  or  science.  Poor  boys,  by  its  application,  have 
won  pre-eminent  names. 

Paracelsus,  almost  a  life-long  vagabond,  through  his 
close  observation  of  nature  became  the  father  of  modern 
chemistry  as  applied  to  medicine.  Consider  what 
vigils,  what  years  of  thought,  observation  and  calcula 
tion,  alone  enabled  Leverrier  to  determine  the  existence 
of  Neptune,  and  indicate,  millions  of  miles  beyond  the 
farthest  planet  as  yefc  discovered,  the  quarter  of  the 
heavens  in  which  it  would  show  itself!  He  admonished 
the  astronomical  world  to  fix  their  instruments  upon  a 
given  point,  and  at  a  designated  time,  and  lo!  the 
stranger  orb  was  there.  Such  instances  of  fixedness  of 
purpose  have  also  manifested  themselves  in  the  highest 
stations.  Alexander  the  Great  acquired  as  much  dis 
tinction  by  his  accurate  observation  of  the  currents  of 
commerce,  and  his  location  of  the  main  key-point  of 
trade,  Alexandria,  as  he  won  undying  renown  by  his  ap 
preciation  of  the  key-points  of  war.  Hannibal,  who 
brought  the  Roman  power  to  the  verge  of  destruction, 
laid  the  basis  of  his  celebrity  by  this  oath,  taken  while 
yet  a  child:  "Upon  the  altar  of  my  country's  gods,  few 
be  my  days  or  many,  dark  or  fair,  in  triumph  or  in 
trouble,  far  or  near,  I  swear  to  live  and  die  Rome's  en 
emy."  This,  his  boyish  resolution,  he  followed  without 
wavering  to  the  end  of  life,  and  the  same  fixedness  of 
purpose  made  him  remarkable  as  a  diplomatist,  an  ad 
ministrator,  and  a  statesman,,  as  he  was  formidable  as 
an  organizer,  a  warrior,  and  a  general.  Cato's  one  idea 
that  Carthage  must  be  destroyed — Delenda  esl  Carthago! 


374  FIXEDNESS    OF    PURPOSE. 

— with  \vhicli  lie  ended  every  speech  he  made  in  the 
Roman  senate,  whatever  was  its  immediate  purport, 
eventually  brought  about  the  overthrow  of  the  greatest 
commercial  power  of  antiquity.  Hannibal  had  as  strong 
a  will  to  overthrow  Rome  as  Cato  to  lay  in  the  dust  its 
rival  Carthage.  The  latter  was  the  more  successful,  and 
carried  his  point  simply  because  he  was  an  instrument 
of  Providence  to  blot  out  a  cruel,  selfish  oligarchy. 
Hannibal  proceeded  so  far  and  so  wonderfully  as  he 
did,  because  he  was  an  agent  necessary  to  the  world's 
progress,  in  that  his  success,  short  of  final  triumph, 
compelled  the  permanent  solidarity  of  ancient  Italy. 
Without  the  amalgamation  of  the  jarring  tribes  of  the 
peninsula,  Home,  in  turn,  could  not  have  accomplished 
her  destiny,  conquered  the  world,  and  leveled  every 
thing  so  that  the  doctrines  of  Christ  would  find  a  plane 
for  their  establishment,  and  all  the  obstacles  could  be 
removed  which  could  have  hindered  their  diffusion.  The 
brutal  Roman  lust  for  universal  dominion  cleared  the 
way  for  the  development  of  Christianity. 

William  the  Norman,  who  conquered  England,  was  as 
patient  in  the  elaboration  of  his  plans  as  he  was  atten 
tive  to  the  perfection  of  their  details.  Arrows  were  the 
missiles  of  his  day,  and  he  gave  as  much  time  to  the 
improvement  of  their  feathering,  as  is  now  bestowed 
upon  the  rifling  of  small  arms  and  artillery. 

We  consider  that  genius  is  a  factor  far  more  impor 
tant  to  human  success  than  talent.  This  is  one  of  the 
greatest  of  mistakes.  Genius  alone  can  dispense  with 
laborious  preparation,  and  yet  there  is  something  above 
or  superior  to  genius;  it  is  common  sense,  the  highest 
kind  of  sense,  which  is  a  compound  of  instinct,  study, 
observation  and  reflection. 

Genius  is  a  flash  of  lightning.     Talent  is  electricity, 


FIXEDNESS    OF    PURPOSE.  375 

controlled  and  made  serviceable.  Genius  bridges  the 
gulf  which  arrests  talent,  but  the  absolute  occasion  for 
its  exercise  is  not  frequent.  Human  progress  could  ad 
vance  without  the  exceptional  impulses  of  genius,  but 
not  without  the  patient  fixedness  of  purpose  peculiar 
to  talent.  Washington  was  a  miracle  of  common  sense. 
He  was  endowed  with  such  an  equipoise  of  talent,  un 
wavering  fixedness  of  purpose,  and  clear  judgment  for 
the  employment  of  means,  that  none  but  lie  could 
have  led  the  thirteen  Colonies  through  seven  years  of 
poverty,  of  war  and  of  suffering,  to  independence. 
Genius  has  a  transient  influence,  while  the  operation  of 
talent  is  as  susceptible  of  increase  as  of  endurance. 

The  American  army  in  Mexico  exhibited  a  like  fixed 
ness  of  purpose.  With  a  force  never  exceeding  ten 
thousand  men,  Scott  defeated,  again  and  again,  bodies 
of  disciplined  troops  five  times  as  numerous,  and  pro 
tected  by  skillfully-constructed  defensive  works,  amply 
supplied  with  artillery — the  Mexicans  are  excellent 
artillerists, — and  commanded  by  experienced  leaders. 
Napoleon  said  that  no  army  of  twenty  thousand  men 
could  take  a  city  of  one  hundred  thousand.  Neverthe 
less,  between  seven  and  nine  thousand  Americans  did 
forcibly  take  possession  of  a  capital  with  two  hundred 
thousand  inhabitants.  This  wras  a  true  exhibition  of 
fixedness  of  purpose. 

Compare  the  French  campaign  in  Mexico  in  1863.  The 
principal  columns,  embracing  the  flower  of  the  French 
army,  numbered  about  thirty  thousand  men,  besides  a 
strong  auxiliary  force  of  at  least  five  thousand  apostate 
Mexicans.  They  were  supplied  with  everything  which  a 
vast  military  empire  could  furnish  to  insure  success, — 
an  empire  which  had  devoted  its  wealth  and  energies,  for 
over  a  decade,  to  the  development  of  its  army  and  the 


376  FIXEDNESS    OF    PURPOSE. 

amelioration  of  its  materiel,  equipment  and  armament. 
Notwithstanding  all  this,  Puebla,  far  less  susceptible  of 
defense  than  Mexico,  and  one  half  nearer  to  the  invad 
ers'  base  of  supplies,  stopped  the  French  from  the 
middle  of  March  until  May,  1863.  It  is  very  likely  that 
between  the  French,  renegade  Mexicans,  Austrians, 
Belgians,  and  mercenaries  of  other  nationalities,  Na 
poleon  III.  directed  the  advance  of  nearly  one  hundred 
thousand  men  on  the  same  line  opened  by  Scott  with 
less  than  fifteen  thousand  men,  all  told. 

Considering  the  difference  of  circumstances  and  the 
exhaustion  of  Mexico  in  1863,  American  fixedness  of 
purpose  overcame,  in  1817,  obstacles  ten  times  as  great 
as  those  over  which  the  French  triumphed  in  1863,  and 
the  Americans  conquered  the  multiplied  difficulties  and 
dangers  with  means  less  than  a  third  of  those  at  the 
disposal  of  Forey,  who  was  made  a  Marshal  of  France, 
for  the  tardy  capture  of  Puebla;  while  Bazaine,  his  suc 
cessor,  exerting  a  three-fold  power,  was  likewise  created 
a  Marshal  for  the  mere  occupation  of  Mexico  in  the 
same  year. 

The  American  triumph  was  one  of  the  most  notable 
exhibitions  of  the  power  of  human  will,  backed  by  other 
qualities,  apparently  inferior  in  importance  but  neces 
sary  to  such  an  extraordinary  success.  Palo  Alto, 
Eesaca  de  la  Palma,  Monterey  and  Buena  Yista  were 
as  much  victories  of  the  will  as  were  the  Leipsic  of 
Gustavus  or  the  Waterloo  of  Wellington. 

The  Vigilance  Committees  which  purged  San  Fran 
cisco  of  crime  and  criminals  in  1851  and  1856,  were 
relevant  exhibitions  of  will  or  fieduess  of  purpose. 

The  best  ally  of  a  fixedness  of  purpose  is  a  high 
sense  of  duty.  Every  young  man  who  desires  to  rise, 
should  live  up  to  the  motto  of  Bayard,  the  knight  with- 


FIXEDNESS    OF    PURPOSE.  377 

out  fear  and  without  reproach:  "Do  what  you  ought  to 
do,  let  come  what  may."  Michelet,  the  great  French 
republican  historian,  quotes  a  saying  of  William,  Prince 
of  Orange,  the  Washington  of  Holland,  which  gives  a 
still  finer  expression  to  this  noble  sentiment:  "Not  only 
when  we  find  ourselves  abandoned  by  all  the  world,  but 
discover  that  all  the  world  is  against  us,  should  we  not 
cease,  on  this  account,  to  defend  ourselves  even  to  the 
last  man;  not  out  of  consideration  for  our  own  selves, 
but  for  the  equity  and  justice  of  the  cause  which  we 
maintain." 

Solomon  in  his  Proverbs,  and  in  his  still  more  won 
derful  book  entitled  Ecclesiastes,  concludes  with  an 
impressive  exhortation  to  fixedness  of  purpose. 

The  astonishment  of  the  wise  and  the  good  has  always 
been  excited  by  a  consideration  of  the  success  of  un 
principled  and  bad  men.  One  reason  is,  that  in  the 
pursuit  of  evil,  bad  men  exhibit  greatertraits  of  fixedness 
of  purpose  than  the  run  of  good  men  exhibit  in  their 
endeavors. 

The  fixity  of  purpose  of  a  private  man,  Howard,  im 
proved  the  whole  prison  system  of  Europe.  His  phi 
lanthropy  carried  light,  warmth,  hope  and  health  into 
the  vilest  and  darkest  dungeons  into  which  the  laws 
plunged  human  beings, — dens  often  worse  than  the 
cages  which  are  constructed  for  wild  beasts.  Almost 
all  the  greatest  benefactors  of  humanity  have  had  to 
oppose  their  fixedness  of  purpose  to  the  contumely  and 
violence  of  the  world.  They  struggled  and  suffered, 
but  they  conquered  at  last;  and  all  the  gold  in  Cali 
fornia  could  not  impart  a  brilliancy  like  that  which  to 
day  attaches  to  their  names.  Such  men  live  up  to  the 
old  Roman  maxim,  "Never  despair."  Horace  says  the 
same  thing:  "Nothing  is  too  arduous  for  mortals." 


378  FIXEDNESS    OP    PURPOSE. 

With  patience  and  perseverance,  there  is  no  difficulty 
in  that  which  is  not  in  itself  impossible.  Terence  em 
phasises  this  when  he  declares,  "There  is  nothing  so 
difficult  but  that  it  may  be  found  out  by  seeking." 

Robert  Bruce,  when  about  to  abandon  his  purpose  of 
attempting  to  free  his  country,  was  induced  to  persevere 
by  watching  a  spider.  The  insect  failed  in  seven  at 
tempts  to  throw  its  thread  across  the  roof  of  the  cavern 
in  which  "the  Bruce"  was  concealed.  The  Scottish 
hero  said  to  himself:  "Like  this  spider,  I  have  made 
seven  attempts  to  redeem  Scotland  and  have  failed;  if 
the  spider  makes  another  effort  and  is  successful,  it 
would  be  shameful  for  me  to  exhibit  less  fixedness  of 
purpose  than  an  insect."  The  spider  triumphed,  and 
so  did  the  Bruce. 


WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED.  379 

WHAT  A  STEAIN  OF  MUSIC  CAUSED. 

BY  Miss  ANNA  T.  SADLIER. 

A  DECEMBER  day,  a  December  sky,  masses  of  gray 
clouds  driving  over  the  blue  Leavens,  bespeaking  a  sec 
ond  and  still  heavier  fail  of  snow  than  that  which 
already  whitened  the  streets  and  lay  in  great  piles  along 
the  thoroughfares.  Cold,  cheerless,  unpromising  was 
the  weather,  blue  and  pinched  the  faces  of  the  passers- 
by,  bitter  and  biting  the  northerly  wind: — all  this  with 
out.  But  within, — autumn  and  its  glorious  dyes,  an 
autumn  sunset  on  a  forest  scene,  rich,  mellow  light,  a 
dim  softened  gloom,  a  dusk  pregnant  with  color,  gor 
geous  hues  intermingled  with  gathering  shadows,  a 
place  for  thought  and  a  place  for  prayer,  where  man's 
interior  life  finds  amid  the  world's  tumult  an  asy 
lum.  In  a  word,  a  cathedral  where  the  hum  and 
the  noise  and  the  glare  of  human  life  are  forever  shut 
out;  where  peace  reigns  supreme;  where  joy  and  sor 
row,  woe  and  fear,  meet  alike  on  neutral  ground  and 
are  silent;  a  mighty  obelisk  pointing  forever  towards  the 
better  country ;  a  land  of  Beulah,  where  birds  forever 
sing  and  flowers  forever  grow,  skirting  with  its  solemn 
warnings  the  shores  of  the  silent  river,  and  giving  per 
petual  glimpses  of  that  heavenly  city  which  forms  its 
glowing  horizon. 

Alone  in  the  dim  minster  was  one  solitary  figure,  a 
man,  to  whom  the  whole  outside  world  of  existence  had 
become  as  a  dream.  He  had  forgotten  the  long  toil  of 
the  cold,  common-place,  uneventful  years;  the  poverty 
staring  him  forever  in  the  face,  the  uncompromising 
landlady,  the  shabby  lodgings;  forgotten  even  the  by 
gone  memories  that  at  times  came  surging  over  his 
heart,  as  waves  upon  a  sea-bound  coast,  casting  up  in 


380  WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED. 

their  passage  old  plans  and  hopes  and  fears,  and  bear 
ing  them  out  to  sea  again, — out  and  away  from  the  shore 
they  left  desolate. 

Alone  the  man  sat  at  the  organ,  filling  the  air  with 
his  gushes  of  harmony.  He  had  forgotten  it  was  winter 
without.  Here  in  the  autumn  land,  full  of  the  colors 
that  forests  catch  at  the  death  of  summer,  he  could  not 
remember  the  outer  dreariness.  If  he  thought  of  ifc  at 
all,  his  eyes  wandered  where  a  gleam  of  gold  lay  in 
shining  ripples  upon  the  altar,  or  where  the  warm, 
crimson  of  the  chancel-window  fell  on  the  picture  of  the 
angelic  choirs.  Or  again,  glancing  adown  the  silent' 
naves,  he  saw  the  many  colors  of  the  windows  playing 
at  cross-purposes,  or  gliding  in  and  out  of  the  pews 
like  voiceless  worshippers. 

But  the  organist  had  serious  business  on  hand.  He 
was  preparing  the  Christmas  music,  and  even  now  wak 
ing  the  organ  into  life  and  power  with  the  full  chords  of 
an  ancient  carol. 

Soul,  sense  and  feeling,  all  were  absorbed  in  the 
sweetness  of  conscious  power;  the  strength  of  the  artist- 
soul  that  burned  within  him;  the  heart  that  throbbed  and 
exulted  as  the  heart  of  the  great  organ,  too,  seemed  to 
throb  and  exult  at  the  touch  of  his  fingers.  His  master 
spirit  swayed,  as  it  were,  a  whole  world  of  feeling  and 
fancy,  thought  and  inspiration,  melody  and  harmony. 
To  his  spiritual  being  came  new,  strange,  beautiful 
thoughts  of  the  God  he  worshipped  in  his  earnest,  soul- 
felfc  way ;  came  exquisite  revelations  of  the  beauty  and 
mystery  of  that  ancient  faith,  to  which  he  clung  as  most 
men  cling  to  life. 

As  he  played  and  played  the  dark  loft  above  him  be 
came  as  it  were  peopled  with  angels;  he  seemed  to 
catch  the  shimmer  of  their  wings,  and  to  inhale  the 


WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED.  381 

perfumes  borne  with  them  from  that  far-off  country,  the 
true  Hesperides  of  the  Christian  soul,  to  which  it  is 
never  a  stranger.  For  there  dwell  his  kindred  in  the 
flesh,  no  less  than  his  kindred  in  the  spirit,  all  of  whom 
are  but  awaiting  his  coming  in  a  land  of  endless  sun 
light,  deathless  bloom.  Nor  is  he  entirely  bereft  of 
their  presence;  they  come  to  him,  at  times,  when  his 
soul,  hard  pressed,  feels  the  fatigue  of  the  fight  so 
long  since  begun;  they  come  with  half-revealed  intima 
tions  of  a  brightness  which  will  dawn  for  him  one  day, 
or  vague  memories  of  some  happy,  holy  past.  Thus 
often,  in  moments  of  sadness  or  mirth,  he  catches  the 
sheen  of  their  new-found  immortality,  or  hears  low 
whispers  from  their  spirit-life,  which  speak  to  him  of 
hard-fought  battles  once  their  portion.  That  day  these 
viewless  messengers  from  the  far-off  heavenly  city  had 
been  busy  with  the  artist's  soul.  He  felt  them  in  the 
very  air  about  him,  in  the  emotions,  too  subtile  for  ex 
pression,  which  thronged  upon  his  heart  and  mind, 
bearing  him  backwards  into  the  sunny  air  of  childhood, 
or  onward  into  the  great  unsolved  mystery  of  the  future. 
No  prayer  escaped  his  lips,  but  prayer  went  up  from 
his  strong,  fervent  soul,  and  found  eloquent  expression 
in  the  strains  that  came  from  the  deep  heart  of  the  or 
gan,  a  reflex  of  his  own.  He  drifted  on  dreamily,  paus 
ing  ever  and  anon  to  arrange  the  stops.  After  one  of 
these  intervals,  he  began  to  play  the  Christmas  song  of 
the  Shepherds,  which  the  choir  was  to  sing  on  the  festi 
val  day.  His  thoughts  had  flown  very  far  away,  indeed, 
when  he  was  suddenly  conscious  of  some  one  standing 
near.  He  turned  his  head  and  saw  a  young  girl,  who 
had  evidently  come  up  from  the  church,  attracted  by 
the  music,  and  now  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  in 
tently  regarding  him.  Pastoris  fiides!  sang  the  many- 


382  WHAT    A    STKAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED. 

voiced  organ,  as  the  artist's  eyes  fixed  themselves 
upon  the  young  girl,  drawn,  as  it  were,  by  some  subtile 
attraction.  He  saw  that  she  was  young,  that  her  cast 
of  countenance  was  remarkably  quiet,  and  even  cold, 
but  that  her  eyes  had  a  peculiar  glow  about  them,  which 
seemed  oddly  enough  at  variance  with  the  character  ol 
her  face.  He  rose,  at  length,  recovering  himself,  and 
spoke,  asking  her  if  he  could  serve  her  in  any  way. 
She  replied,  in  a  clear,  cold  voice,  which  also  seemed 
curiously  out  of  keeping  with  the  expression  of  her  eyes, 
explaining  briefly  that  she  had  accompanied  some 
friends  to  visit  the  cathedral,  and  tempted  by  the  sweet 
sounds,  had  come  up.  She  added  civilly  that  she  re 
gretted  having  disturbed  him;  but  the  musician  paid  no 
heed  to  her  words.  He  stood  before  her  with  folded 
arms,  studying  her  face  with  strange  intentness.  She, 
glancing  at  him,  colored  faintly,  and  had  just  made  a 
movement  as  if  to  retire,  when  a  step  was  heard  on  the 
stairs,  and  a  young  man  appeared,  who  gave  one  quick, 
astonished  glance  at  both,  but  said,  in  a  pleasant,  cheer 
ful  voice : 

"Why,  Miss  "Warner,  have  you  fallen  on  enchanted 
ground?  We  have  been  waiting  for  you  below." 

She  turned  toward  him  and  smiled. 

' '  I  am  so  sorry, "  she  said  simply,  ' '  but  we  will  go 
now." 

"I  fear  our  inopportune  visit  has  disturbed  you," 
said  the  young  man,  turning  with  easy  good-breeding  to 
the  organist;  "but  I  assure  you  it  was  a  great  pleasure 
to  us,  hearing  you  play." 

The  musician  merely  bowed. 

"It  was  so  like  a  dream,"  said  the  young  girl,  speak 
ing  in  the  same  cold,  quiet  voice;  "the  dim  church  and 
the  music,  but  I  regret  having  disturbed  you." 


WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED.  383 

The  musician  muttered  some  indistinct  words,  and 
the  young  girl,  as  she  passed  down  the  stairs,  bowed  to 
him  slightly.  When  they  had  gone,  he  set  himself  to 
trying  various  hymns  or  anthems  for  the  Christmas  time, 
but  ever  and  anon  his  fingers  wandered  back  to  the  old 
strain,  Pastoris  fiides.  Once  he  even  caught  himself  at 
the  aria,  "Now  so  Fair, "  and  stopped  abruptly. 

Whither  had  flown  his  holy,  happy  thoughts,  his  un 
interrupted  intercourse  with  a  higher  world  ?    Ah !  leaven 
of  poor  humanity,  how  your  workings  mar  the  perfect 
whole,  and  steal  its  perfection  from  that  spiritual  life, 
to  which  ardent  poet-souls  aspire!     Hitherto,  his  after 
noons  or  evenings  at  the  organ  had  been  one  long  sur- 
sum  corda;  the  upward  tendency  of  a  mind  too  high  and 
pure  for  earthly  converse.     Now,  of  the  earth,  earthy, 
he  saw  before  him  the  quiet  face,  and  dreamed  again  of 
the  impassive  voice,  which,  oddly  enough,  he  could  im 
agine  moved  to  passionate  pity  or  tenderness,  or  even 
to  the  ardent  accents  of  love.     He  slowly  rose,  closed 
the  organ,  said  his  evening  prayer   and  went  down  into 
the  church.     All  was  still  and  silent,  like  a  mighty  for 
est  in  the  solemn  night.    The  sanctuary  lamp  was  burn 
ing  deep  crimson.     The  quietude  of  the  spot  seemed 
intensified,  and   he   almost   fancied   that   through   the 
gathering  gloom,   departed  souls  were  hovering  round 
the  tabernacle,  and  at  the  close  of  a  busy  day,  pros 
trating  themselves  in  adoration  upon  the  marble  floor 
of  the  chancel,  or  gliding  noislessly  to  and  fro  through 
the    long   naves.     Silence   and  mystery    inexpressible 
reigned  supreme.     He  lingered  a  moment  at  the  door, 
as  if  reluctant  to  leave  the  house  of  prayer,  and  caught 
by  the  light  of  the  sanctuary  lamp,  the  adoring  gaze  of 
the   Archangel  Michael  fixed,  as  it  were,  upon  the  tab 
ernacle.     He  passed  out  into  the  wintry  street.     The 


384:     WHAT  A  STRAIN  OF  MUSIC  CAUSED. 

lamps  were  lighted;  the  snow-covered  pavements  were 
treacherous  to  the  feet,  and  the  night  wind  was  cold 
and  biting.  Homewards  the  artist  hastened.  Home 
wards?  To  him  home  meant  a  two-story  frame  building, 
on  the  upper  floor  of  which  he  rented  a  room.  He  went 
in,  partook  of  the  frugal  supper  placed  before  him,  and 
passed  up  the  rickety  stairs,  to  dream  wonderful,  artist 
dreams;  to  wander  in  spirit  through  ancient  cathedrals; 
to  hear  rushing  harmonies  on  mighty  organs,  that  thrilled 
and  throbbed  with  feeling  almost  human,  inspiration  al 
most  divine.  He  filled  the  ambient  air  with  the  mysteri 
ous  people  of  his  fancy,  and  forgot  the  gloom  andloneli- 
uess,  forgot  the  shabby  clothes  he  wore,  and  the  endless 
struggle  in  which  he  was  engaged.  Ever  and  anon,  he 
hummed  the  snatch  of  the  Shepherds'  Christmas  song, 
and  ever  and  anon,  rose  unbidden  the  girlish  face  which 
seemed  forever  to  haunt  his  mind. 

The  Christmas-time  came  round,  and  the  long- 
expected  midnight  mass.  At  the  Offertory  all  was  still 
for  a  moment,  then  slowly  the  organist  began  the  ac 
companiment.  The  organ  had  a  singular  freak;  it 
poured  forth  the  anthem  as  if  possessed  of  a  human 
soul.  A  strange  thrill  ran  through  the  people.  The 
chorus  of  voices  rang  out  with  wonderful  distinctness, 
Pasloris  fiides.  All  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  choir. 
Some  whispering  was  observable  amongst  the  multitude, 
and  before  the  minds  of  many  arose  the  whole  grand 
panorama  of  the  Announcement;  the  faithful  shepherds 
wandering  over  Galilean  hill-sides;  the  sudden  glory 
breaking  over  the  dark  Judean  mountains;  the  august 
presence  of  the  heavenly  visitor,  in  full  panoply  of 
flight,  down-tending;  the  gates  of  the  jasper-walled  city 
ajar;  the  domes  of  the  New  Jerusalem  shining  golden 
through  the  dark  ether,  and  the  wondrous  song  of  the 
angelic  choir  filling  the  immeasurable  realms  of  space. 


WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUS10    CAUSED.  385 

Pastoris  fiides  errantes!  l '  How  beautiful ! "  murmured 
the  listeners,  and  the  sound  ceased;  but  when  the  mass 
was  nearly  at  an  end,  the  organist  began,  so  soft  and 
low  that  it  seemed  its  distant  echo,  once  more  the  Shep 
herds'  song.  Mass  was  over,  and  the  large  and  fash 
ionable  congregation  streamed  out,  congratulating  one 
another  as  they  went,  on  the  delightful  music,  all  sound 
ing  "Merry  Christmas  !"in  one  another's  ears,  and  all, 
even  the  poorest,  hastening  homewards  io  a  joyful  meet 
ing  at  the  Christmas-board.  Slowly  the  organist  came 
down  the  steps  from  the  loft.  He  looked  wistfully  around 
him.  No  one  shook  him  by  the  hand,  nor  cried  "Merry 
Christmas!"  to  him,  nor  asked  him  to  a  place  at  some 
Christmas  gathering.  Suddenly  his  whole  face  changed. 
Passing  out  of  the  door  of  the  main  aisle,  he  saw  the  same 
girl  who  had  appeared  above  the  choir  stairs.  She 
was  accompanied  by  the  same  good-looking,  fashion 
ably-dressed,  well-bred  young  man,  and  a  lady,  an  elderly 
lady,  richly  clad.  Listening,  with  a  smile,  to  some  re 
mark  of  her  companion's,  she  never  glanced  at  the 
organist,  though  he  stood  almost  directly  in  her  path. 
They  drove  off  in  a  crimson-cushioned  brougham,  and 
the  musician  turned  wearily  away  and  sought  his  home. 
The  landlady  asked  if  he  would  oblige  her  by  dining  up 
stairs  just  for  that  day,  as  she  wanted  the  room  below 
for  her  friends.  So  up  stairs  his  solitary  meal  was 
served.  He  had  a  little  fire  lighted  in  the  grate,  in  honor 
of  the  day,  and  sat  beside  it,  dreaming,  all  alone,  all  alone. 
When  evening  came  he  did  not  venture  to  light  a  can 
dle,  but  tried  to  forget  that  the  low-burning  fire  sufficed 
only  to  make  the  darkness  more  dreary.  For  the  artist 
had  a  debt  to  pay — a  debt  contracted  by  an  idolized 
father,  who  had  died  broken-hearted,  and  left  his  son 
to  redeem  a  once-honored  name.  Perhaps,  when  he 
25 


386  WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED. 

had  vowed  to  pay  it,  even  to  the  last  farthing,  he  had 
not  considered  the  long,  weary,  woeful  years  of  toil, 
of  poverty,  of  trial  which  awaited  him.  Yet  his  daunt 
less  heart,  still  undismayed,  bore  the  long  burden  pa 
tiently  and  bravely,  never  uttering  a  complaint.  Christ 
mas  visions  thronged  upon  his  mind;  Christmases  in 
winters  long  ago,  when  the  very  name  of  the  festival 
brought  half-anticipated  joys;  when  faces,  long  since 
departed  from  earth,  were  gathered  beside  the  home- 
hearth;  when  voices,  now  silent  forever,  spoke  to 
him  in  the  never-forgotten  language  of  affection;  when 
hearts  now  stilled  in  death  were  warm  with  life;  when 
hands,  which  Jhe  had  seen  folded  beneath  coffin-lids, 
grasped  his  own  in  friendly  greeting,  and  the  Christmas 
was  the  golden  meridian  of  the  year.  Thus,  mid  dreams 
and  visions  the  day  came  and  went,  and  once  more  the 
dull  to-morrow.  The  musician  was  busy  with  some 
copying.  In  this  way  he  usually  filled  his  leisure  mo 
ments,  and  added  somewhat  to  his  slender  income.  He 
did  not  raise  his  head,  but  simply  said,  "Come  in," 
when  the  landlady  knocked  at  the  door.  She  threw  it 
open  and  announced,  "A.  gentleman  to  see  you,  sir." 
He  turned  in  surprise,  and  saw  the  stranger  who  had 
accompanied  the  young  lady  to  the  church  on  both 
occasions. 

"I  must  apologize  for  having  taken  this  liberty,'' 
said  the  gentleman,  "but  the  pastor  of  the  cathedral 
gave  me  a  card  of  introduction  to  you,  and  I  was  anx 
ious  to  present  it  in  person." 

The  musician  bowed  somewhat  stiffly,  took  the  card 
from  the  stranger's  hand,  and  asked  him  to  be  seated. 
As  he  took  the  offered  chair  the  young  man  continued, 
in  his  pleasant,  cheerful  voice,  "The  fact  is,  Miss 
"Warner  and  myself  were  so  charmed  with  the  music 


WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED.  387 

yesterday,  that  we  both  felt  desirous  of  renewing  our 
acquaintance  with  you;  the  acquaintance  commenced, 
as  you  may  remember,  some  two  weeks  ago." 

This  was  so  cordially  said  that  the  musician  at  once, 
replying  in  the  same  tone,  referred  briefly  to  the  note 
of  introduction,  after  which  they  drifted  into  a  pleasant, 
desultory  conversation,  so  that  the  afternoon  was  well 
spent  when  the  stranger  rose  to  depart. 

"Can  you  dine  with  us  this  week?"  he  asked,  as  he 
stood  up;  "any  evening  that  suits  you  will  answer." 

The  musician  hesitated.  Could  he  dine  at  any  house 
with  his  poor,  shabby  clothes,  and  no  full  dress  suit? 
Besides,  might  not  these  people  be  merely  tolerating 
him  for  his  music's  sake? 

"I  regret  to  say,"  he  answered,  after  a  pause,  "that  I 
make  it  an  invariable  rule  to  accept  no  invitations  to  dine. 
You  must  not  think  me  ungracious,  but,  in  my  circum 
stances,"  he  added,  glancing,  with  a  half  smile,  around 
the  room,  "I  must  forego  all  social  enjoyment." 

"Mrs.  Warner  and  her  daughter  were  so  anxious  to 
meet  you,"  said  the  stranger,  "they  were  looking  for 
ward  to  it." 

A  flash  passed  over  the  artist's  face,  quite  unnoticed 
by  his  visitor.  He  was  a  good-looking,  good-natured, 
inexpressibly  well-bred  man,  and  too  thorough  a  gen 
tleman  not  to  recognize  a  kindred  element  in  another. 
Bat  emotion  of  any  kind  produced  in  the  musician's 
mind  at  the  mention  of  Miss  Warner's  name — Miss 
Warner,  the  wealthy  and  aristocratic — was  totally  out 
of  his  philosophy.  And  all  the  time  the  poor  artist's 
thoughts  were  in  a  sad  whirl.  If  it  were  humiliation  to 
accept  patronage  at  the  hands  of  these  people,  what  was 
humiliation  to  the  new  entrancing  pleasure  caused  him 
by  the  mere  thought  of  seeing  Miss  Warner  again  ? 


388  WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED. 

"I  cannot  promise  to  dine  with  you,"  lie  said  slowly, 
"  but  Low  would  it  do  if  I  were  to  coine  in  after  dinner?" 

"It  will  be  a  very  great  pleasure  to  us,"  said  the 
other;  "  though  I  wish  you  would  promise  to  dine  with 
us." 

"I  fear  that  it  is  impossible,"  answered  the  organist 
quietly;  "but  otherwise,  I  am  at  your  service." 

"It  is  for  you  to  name  an  evening,"  said  the  stranger. 

"Thursday  will  suit  me  best,"  replied  the  organist; 
'I  am  usually  free  then." 

"Thursday  let  it  be,"  said  the  stranger;  "remember 
we  shall  count  on  you.  By  the  way,  here  is  my  card, 
with  the  address  on  it." 

They  shook  hands  cordially  at  parting,  and  when  the 
musician  had  seen  his  visitor  down  the  rickety  stairs,  he 
returned,  and  taking  up  the  card,  read  the  name  and 
address:  "B.  Howard  Winthrop,  85 Square." 

He  saw  at  a  glance  that  it  was  in  one  of  the  most 
fashionable  localities,  and  again  a  flash  passed  over  his 
face.  More  or  less  absent-minded  was  he  at  such  re 
hearsals  as  came  between  that  day  and  the  one  ap 
pointed.  Time  seemed  fairly  to  creep;  till  at  last  about 
eight  o'clock  on  Thursday  evening,  he  set  out.  He  had 
brushed  his  best  suit  with  unusual  care,  and  inked  the 
seams  where  they  began  to  show  white.  After  mature 
deliberation,  he  had  purchased  half  a  dozen  buttons, 
replacing  those  which  were  most  conspicuously  shabby. 
He  had  bought  a  new  collar  and  cuffs,  and  even  looked 
wistfully  at  his  gloves,  winch  were  beginning  to  go  at 
the  thumbs.  But  he  durst  not  venture  on  a  new  pair, 
and  comforted  himself  with  the  thought  that  no  one 
would  notice.  Alas!  he  scarcely  realized  how  little, 
after  a  slight  momentary  surprise  at  the  shabbiness 
of  his  appearance,  among  a  room  full  of  well-dressed 


WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED.  389 

people,  any  one  thought  of  the  matter  at  all.  Miss 
Warner  was  very  civil  to  him;  but  he  was  exceedingly 
constrained  and  awkward  with  her.  To  meet  a  gentle 
man  on  easy  terms  never  cost  him  a  thought.  Bat  in 
the  society  of  ladies  he  was  totally  lost.  Almost  since 
boyhood,  he  had  lived  out  of  the  world;  poor  and  alone, 
and  it  was  of  little  avail  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  gentle 
man,  and  had  passed  the  lower  grades  of  a  university 
before  the  crash  came.  Of  course  no  one  asked  him 
to  play,  till  in  conversation  with  Miss  Warner,  he  him 
self  offered  to  let  her  hear  some  favorite  snatches  of 
Mendelssohn.  She  was  immensely  pleased  with  the 
suggestion,  and  every  one  was  charmed  with  his  play 
ing.  He  had  not  noticed  anybody  in  particular,  but 
had  let  his  eyes  stray  at  intervals  to  where  Miss  War 
ner  sat.  He  observed  that  her  eyes — those  strange, 
attractive  eyes  of  hers — were  bright  and  glowing,  as 
she  listened,  and  turned  eagerly  towards  him  when  he 
had  finished  playing,  and  arisen  from  the  instrument. 

Sometime  after  that  he  met  her.  She  and  her  mother 
were  spending  the  winter  south,  and  he  visited  occa 
sionally  at  their  house,  or  at  the  Winthrops',  where  he 
was  always  a  welcome  guest.  He  never  knew  how  it 
all  came  about;  but  one  dark  February  afternoon,  he 
was  ushered  into  their  drawing-room,  and  found  Miss 
Warner  alone.  He  remembered  with  curious  distinct 
ness  each  detail  of  the  room.  The  curtains  closely 
drawn,  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  and  the  polished  and 
irons;  the  Sevres  clock  on  the  mantel,  the  pictures  on 
the  walls,  and  even  the  basket  of  rare  flowers  with 
card  attached,  which  stood  upon  a  table.  He  remem 
bered  how  he  had  told  her,  in  a  moment  of  infatuation, 
the  whole  story  of  his  attraction  towards  her;  the  wild, 


390  WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED. 

hopeless  attachment  which  had  sprung  up  in  his  heart, 
the  utter  desolation  of  his  life,  and  the  poverty  against 
Avhich  he  was  forever  struggling.  He  remembered  the 
precise  expression  of  her  face;  the  increased  coldness 
of  her  thin,  finely-curved  mouth;  the  haughtiness  of 
her  demeanor,  and  the  icy  tone  of  her  voice,  as  she 
swept  past  him,  saying  only:  "  Are  you  mad?"  When 
she  reached  the  door,  she  paused  with  her  hand  upon  che 
knob,  looked  back,  and  made  him  a  mocking  courtesy, 
saying,  ft  You  will  excuse  me  if  I  bid  you  a  good  after 
noon." 

A  dream  and  the  awaking!  He  rose  and  left  the 
house,  went  straight  to  the  church,  and  played  as  he 
had  never  played  before.  Bitter  and  burning  thoughts 
filled  his  heart — his  brave,  proud  heart,  humbled  to  its 
very  core.  But  he  had  gradually  grown  calmer,  and 
the  folly  of  it  all  had  been  borne  in  upon  his  mind. 
The  blow  might  have  been  dealt  more  gently,  but  after 
all,  perhaps,  it  was  kindest,  for  it  crushed  out  hope  so 
completely.  Long  afterwards,  in  thinking  of  it,  a  gleam 
of  consolation  came  to  him.  Her  eyes,  those  eyes  which 
had  first  attracted  him,  had  softened  and  glanced  with 
a  momentary  light  as  she  listened  to  his  story,  though 
the  rest  of  ker  face  had  seemed  so  cold  and  impassive; 
nor  did  his  fancy  altogether  deceive  him.  Months 
afterwards,  when  Adele  Warner  smiled  on  Robert  Win- 
throp's  conventional  and  good-form  wooing,  she  re 
called  with  a  strange  thrill,  the  musician's  love-making, 
and  the  sudden  pallor  on  his  face  when  she  had  turned 
to  leave  the  room.  She  dwelt  a  little  on  the  recollec 
tion,  as  women  will.  For  the  poor  musician  had  looked 
into  her  face  with  earnest,  loyal  eyes,  and  spoken  hon 
est,  manly  words,  that  came  straight  from  his  true 
heart.  •  Involuntarily  she  respected  him.,  and  a  vague 


WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED.  391 

wish  formed  itself  in  her  mind,  that  he  had  been  Robert 
"Winthrop,  the  son  of  the  wealthy  banker,  for  whom 
mothers  had  angled,  and  daughters  had  sighed,  for 
many  a  weary  season.  Impatiently  she  thrust  the  no 
tion  aside.  Had  he  not  been  absurdly  presumptuous: 
he,  a  poor  musician?  But  she  never  forgot  his  wooing. 

The  summer  came  and  went.  The  long  bright 
ness  of  the  summer's  day  fell  over  the  hot  and  dusty 
city,  and  still  one  brave  and  patient  heart  toiled  on. 
The  musician  never  left  his  post,  but  labored  and  la 
bored,  and  still  in  dim  twilights  sought  the  unfrequented 
church,  and  poured  out  his  anthems  of  praise.  Still  his 
strong  fervent  soul  went  up  to  heaven  in  mighty  strains 
of  music,  upborne  above  all  pain,  and  care,  and  toil, 
and  sorrow  of  earth.  Time  had  softened  his  pain  and 
quieted  his  discontent.  More  than  ever  his  heart  turned 
to  spiritual  things,  and  he  lived  his  true  life  only  in  the 
shadows  of  the  great  cathedral. 

As  time  went  on  a  terrible  calamity  fell  upon  the  city. 
Fever,  like  a  plague,  was  mowing  down  men,  as  the 
reaper  mows  the  grain.  Over  the  beautiful  city  brooded 
Azrael,  the  death-angel,  in  solemn  majesty,  the  shadow 
of  his  wings  darkening  the  brightness  of  the  summer's 
day,  and  casting  their  reflection  over  the  face  of  heaven. 
Terror  and  confusion  reigned  supreme.  Men  fled  as 
fly  the  trembling  dwellers  of  the  plain  before  the  flowing 
lava.  To  the  musician's  soul  came  no  affright.  Above 
the  darkness  he  saw  the  silver  sheen  of  the  angel's 
wings,  and  above  his  destroying  sword  the  crown  of 
immortality.  Still  he  pursued  his  unruffled  way,  on 
quiet  evenings,  to  and  from  the  cathedral.  For  in  its  sol 
emn  shadows  he  forgot  the  terrible  peril  that  menaced 
the  fair  city.  One  early  autumn  afternoon  he  went  as 


392  WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED. 

usual  to  his  place  in  the  choir,  and  letting  his  hands 
wander  at  will  over  the  keys,  he  struck  a  few  bars  of  the 
old  strain,  Pastoris  fiides.  Present  to  his  mind  again 
were  the  Christmas-evergreens,  the  lights  upon  the 
altar,  the  voices  of  the  choir,  and  above  and  beyond  all, 
the  chill,  December  eve,  when  the  girlish  face  appear 
ing  in  the  choir  had  first  taken  its  hold  upon  his  quiet 
life.  Old  love  and  tenderness  awoke  once  more  within 
his  heart,  and  upwards  went  a  cry  to  heaven  for  her 
safety  amid  the  perils  of  the  hour,  and  for  strength  that 
he  might  bear,  uncomplaining,  the  loneliness  that  at 
times  seemed  to  weigh  more  heavily  upon  his  spirit. 
Patience,  brave  heart!  Courage,  tired  worker!  Peace, 
troubled  soul !  the  hour  is  not  yet. 

He  rose,  at  length,  and  went  down  into  the  church  to 
make  his  evening  devotions.  Some  one  was  kneeling 
in  one  of  the  front  pews.  He  did  not  observe  who  it 
was,  but  only  that  the  figure  knelt  with  bowed  head, 
to  all  appearance  wrapt  in  prayer.  He  took  his  place 
somewhat  farther  back,  and  thought  no  more  of  it,  till 
he  heard  what  seemed  to  be  a  sound  as  of  weeping. 
This  attracted  his  attention,  and  when  suddenly  the 
head  was  raised,  he  recognized  Miss  Warner.  By  a 
sudden  impulse  he  approached  her. 

"  Miss  Warner,"  said  he,  in  a  troubled  voice,  "  what 
is  the  cause  of  your  grief  ?  Can  I  be  of  any  service?" 

She  looked  at  him,  and  found  something  soothing 
and  restful  in  his  grave,  earnest  face. 

"Ah,  it  is  you?"  she  said;  "  I  heard  you  playing,  but 
it  all  seemed  a  dream.  I  scarcely  knew  whether  it  was 
real  or  not." 

He  saw  that  her  eyes  were  red  with  weeping.  His 
heart  was  full  of  pity  and  tenderness. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  "what  distresses  you;  is  it  the 
plague  ?  " 


WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED.  393 

"My  God  !  yes,"  she  cried,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  weep 
ing;  "he  has  taken  the  fever.  He  will  die,  and  I, — oh, 
my  God,  nty  God !  " 

He  wondered  as  he  looked  at  her.  Her  face  and  voice 
were  changed  beyond  recognition.  No  longer  cold, 
quiet,  impassive. 

"Mr.  Winthrop  is  stricken,  then?"  he  said. 

"And  they  will  not  let  me  go  to  him,"  she  answered. 
"They  are  hurrying  me  away.  To-morrow  I  must  leave 
the  city.7' 

"But  he  is  well  cared  for,"  said  the  musician,  sooth 
ingly. 

"  Only  by  a  hired  nurse,"  said  she,  "  who  will  probably 
desert  him.  He  will  be  alone  and  will  die." 

The  musician  looked  at  her  with  great  compassion, 
yet,  curiously  enough,  he  spoke  coldly  and  even  sternly : 
"And  if  he  should  die,"  he  said,  "what  then?  hundreds 
are  dying  every  day." 

"Do  think  what  it  will  be  to  me!"  she  retorted  al 
most  fiercely;  "but  you,  absorbed  in  your  art,  cannot 
dream — " 

She  stopped  abruptly.  "Was  it  the  memory  of  a  face 
grown  suddenly  white  and  despairing?  The  musician 
smiled.  So  she  had  never  realized,  he  thought,  what 
he  had  been  capable  of  suffering,  nor  what  he  had 
suffered.  She  could  think  only  of  her  own.  But  after 
all,  suffering  was  natural  to  him.  It  had  been  his  very 
life;  but  she,  this  young,  girlish  creature,  was  tasting  its 
first  bitter  draught.  And  he  could  pity  her. 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  she  began,  with  a  piteous 
effort  to  speak  calmly  and  rationally;  "if  he  were  to 
die  without  having  any  one  near  him,  it  would  be  so 
terrible;  yet  they  will  not  let  me  go." 

A  sudden  thought  struck  the  musician.     He  did  not 


394:  WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED. 

speak  for  a  moment,  but  turned  toward  the  altar.  The 
sanctuary  lamp  was  burning  deep  red  as  ever.  The  colors 
of  the  chancel-window,  subdued  and  mellowed,  showed 
distinctly  in  its  light.  The  adoring  gaze  of  the  arch 
angel  was  still  fixed  upon  the  tabernacle,  and  his  heav 
enly  legions  following  him  in  swift  flight,  seemed  almost 
to  live  with  human  life  and  being. 

"Miss  Warner,"  said  the  musician  slowly,  "would  it 
relieve  your  mind  if  some  one  were  to  remain  with  Mr. 
Winthrop;  I  mean  a  friend  who  would  not  desert  him?" 

"But  there  is  no  one,"  she  cried,  "who  would  re 
main  with  a  fever-stricken  patient." 

"I  know  of  one  person, "he  said,  "who  would  be 
willing  to  do  so." 

"But  who?"  she  said  incredulously,  "  a  friend  of  Mr. 
Winthrop's?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "  I  suppose  he  might  be  called  a 
friend  of  Mr.  Winthrop's." 

"Do  not  keep  me  in  suspense,"  she  pursued  impa 
tiently,  "  tell  me  who  he  is." 

"I  mean  myself,"  he  added  quietly;  "I  have  no  fear  of 
the  fever,  and  would  be  willing  to  serve  a  friend  in  that 
way." 

"  Oh,  if  you  would ! "  she  cried,  her  whole  face  bright 
ening;  "  but  are  you  not  afraid?  " 

"No,"  he  said  calmly.  "But  where  is  Mr.  Win- 
throp?" 

She  gave  him  the  number.  He  knew  at  once  it  was 
the  house  wherein  he  had  spent  that  memorable  even 
ing. 

"I  shall  get  ready  to  be  there  by  nine  to-night,"  he 
remarked,  noting  down  the  address.  "I  shall  find 
some  one  to  take  my  place  here.  And  now,  had  you 
not  better  be  going  home?" 


WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED.  395 

"Yes,  I  shall  go  now,"  she  said,  rising  mechanically. 

When  they  had  left  the  church,  she  cried  impulsively: 
"  How  can  I  ever  thank  you!  It  is  such  a  noble  thing 
so  to  risk  your  life." 

"  An  act  of  ordinary  humanity;"  said  he,  "you  must 
not  look  at  in  an  exaggerated  light.  But,"  he  added, 
"may  I  venture,  Miss  Warner,  to  consider  you  even  for 
once  as  a  friend." 

"Now  and  forever,"  she  ejaculated  warmly,  "that 
best  of  all  earthly  possessions,  a  friend  in  need." 

"Yet,  "he  went  on  with  some  bitterness,  "it  is  not 
usual  for  people  in  different  stations  so  to  consider 
each  other;  however,  for  this  once,  I  will  take  the  priv 
ilege  of  a  friend  and  ask  a  favor." 

"What  is  the  favor?"  she  said  eagerly?  "  What  can 
I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"Simply  this,"  he  answered,  " there  is  an  old,  long 
standing  debt  of  mine,  the  last  payment  of  which  comes 
due  in  two  weeks  from  to-morrow.  May  I  leave  pro 
vision  for  it  in  your  hands,  in  case  I  should  be  taken 
ill, — or  anything  were  to  happen?" 

For  the  first  time,  the  whole  extent  of  his  sacrifice 
flashed  upon  her  mind;  and  it  was  for  her  sake  he  was 
risking  his  life.  She  seized  both  his  hands  in  her  agi 
tation. 

"You  must  not  do  it,"  she  said  earnestly,  "  oh,  how 
blind  and  selfish  I  have  been!" 

The  touch  of  her  hands  thrilled  him,  and  perhaps 
also  sent  a  gleam  of  hope  to  his  heart.  Could  it  be 
that  in  any  possible  future  she  might  forget  the  differ 
ence  in  their  stations  ?  His  salary  would  henceforth  be 
his  own,  and  he  was  strong  and  young  to  work  for  her, 
as  he  had  hitherto  worked  for  his  father's  honor.  But 
the  flush  of  hope  passed  quickly  away.  He  was  free  to 


396  WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED. 

sacrifice  himself  for  her,  now  that  his  task  was  done. 
Life  had  no  very  strong  ties  for  him.  Yet,  with  mo 
mentary  self-pity,  he  remembered  his  youth,  and  the 
possibilities  of  the  future.  Meanwhile  she  was  earnestly 
seeking  to  dissuade  him  from  his  purpose;  earnestly, 
yet  with  unconscious  insincerity,  fearing  that  her  per 
suasions  might  prevail.  But  no,  he  was  determined; 
and  briefly  referring  to  the  favor  he  had  already  asked 
of  her,  continued : 

"I  am  conscious  that  my  request  is  a  singular  one; 
yet  I  have  so  many  things  on  hand,  that  at  the  moment 
I  cannot  think  of  any  one  else  who  would  take  this 
trouble  for  me.57  When  they  arrived  at  her  residence, 
he  wrote  down  some  particulars  as  to  the  amount  of 
the  money  and  its  destination,  promised  to  send  it  to 
her  earl}T  in  the  evening,  and  then  nerved  himself  to 
say  good-bye. 

"  When  can  we  hear  from  you  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Not  for  some  time,  I  fear,"  he  answered,  "  it  would 
not  be  safe;  but  be  assured  as  soon  as  possible  you 
shall  have  news  of  us." 

" And  when  shall  we  meet  again? "  she  asked. 

"  God  alone  knows,"  he  answered  gravely;  "in  His 
hands  the  matter  lies." 

"If  you  were  to  take  the  fever!"  she  said  suddenly, 
with  great  horror  in  her  voice. 

"  I  am  young  and  strong,  and  will  have  a  good  chance 
of  escaping  it,"  he  said,  pitying  her. 

11  But  if  you  should?"  she  persisted. 

"If  I  should,"  he  replied,  smiling,  "I  could  easily  be 
spared;  another  organist  can  be  found,  and  no  one  will 
miss  me. — But  lie  is  loved." 

The  deep  bitterness  of  his  tone  struck  her. 

' '  How  despairingly  you  talk ! "  she  said,  wonderingly . 
"  Have  you  no  friends  nor  relations  ?  " 


WHAT    A    STBAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED.  397 

"Not  one  who  could  not  easily  spare  me,"  lie  said, 
still  smiling. 

"You  Lave  one  friend  who  will  never  forget  you, 
never,  never,"  she  said  earnestly. 

His  face  lighted  up.  He  took  her  hand  gently  and 
humbly,  thus  mutely  thanking  her,  with  such  love,  sor 
row  and  tenderness  that  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
Their  parting  was  quiet  and  solemn,  from  the  uncer 
tainty  of  their  meeting.  When  he  left  Miss  Warner 
the  musician  returned  to  the  church  again.  It  was 
almost  dark.  By  the  light  of  the  sanctuary  lamp  he 
found  his  way  to  the  railing,  and  there  prostrated  him 
self.  He  prayed  that  the  sacrifice  might  not  be  made 
purely  for  human  love,  but  for  divine.  The  shadow  of 
Azrael's  wings  was  on  him;  he  felt  their  touch;  his  soul 
was  oppressed,  and  he  could  not  look  above,  nor  see 
the  light  through  the  darkness.  He  groped  his  way  up 
the  stairs  and  to  the  organ,  throwing  open  a  window  at 
the  end  of  the  choir,  which  let  in  a  faint  light  from  the 
street.  His  fingers  swept  the  keys;  he  scarce  knew 
what  he  played;  burning  thoughts,  fervent  prayers,  ar 
dent  supplications,  all  burst  forth  as  it  were  from  the 
deep  heart  of  the  organ.  Stabat  Mater!  wailed  the  mu 
sic;  Pro  peccatls!  thundered  the  chords.  It  was  one 
grand  requiem;  one  long,  last  cry  for  mercy,  for  pardon; 
one  final  meditation  upon  the  sorrows  like  unto  which 
were  no  other  sorrows.  The  organ  was  silent  an  instant; 
then  uprose  one  final  burst  of  harmony,  straight  from 
the  artist's  soul.  The  hour  of  bitterness  was  past.  Te 
Deum  laudamus!  rang  out  upon  the  solemn  air,  re 
echoed  amongst  the  pillars,  in  the  great  dome,  and 
onward  and  upward  through  the  blua,  silent  heavens 
unto  the  Throne,  where  all  harmonies  forever  meet,  in 
one  grand  choral  of  praise.  The  musician  closed  the 


393  WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED. 

organ,  and  passed  down  the  familiar  steps  and  out  into 
the  darkness.     He  had  left  his  post  forever. 

All  his  arrangements  being  made,  he  entered  upon 
his  duties  as  nurse,  at  nine  punctually.  He  found  Rob 
ert  "Winthrop  in  a  very  low  condition,  and  on  the  point 
of  being  deserted  by  the  nurse,  who  refused  to  remain 
any  longer.  He  took  his  place  beside  the  bed,  and 
never  left  it  till,  when  Robert  Winthrop  was  convales 
cing,  he  himself  was  stricken  down.  There  was  some 
thing  terribly  solemn  and  impressive  in  the  two  men 
being  thus  left  face  to  face  with  death.  From  dawn 
until  midnight  the  battle  continued.  But  as  Winthrop 
recovered,  it  became  evident  that  Azrael  had  claimed 
another  victim — over  the  musician's  head  hovered  the 
crown  that  meant  for  him  a  bright  immortality.  The 
day  came  to  which,  for  long,  patient  years,  the  musician 
had  looked  forward.  His  father's  debt  was  paid.  But 
he  lay  unconscious  of  what  would  once  have  been  so 
great  a  joy.  The  air  without  was  heavy  with  a  fatal 
heaviness  and  sickening  odor  of  the  fell  disease.  No 
busy  passers-by  disturbed  the  dying  man's  repose.  Still 
was  now  the  great,  heaving  city,  as  the  dim  cathedral 
wherein  the  artist  had  been  wont  to  dream  away  long, 
happy  hours.  Night  was  coming  on  apace,  and  terror 
crept  into  Robert  Winthrop's  soul,  for  he  saw  the  change 
in  his  companion's  face,  and  knew  that  the  hand  of  death 
was  on  him.  One  thought  entered  into  his  mind.  Still 
pale,  wasted,  worn  with  disease,  he  crept  softly  down 
and  out  into  the  silent  street.  The  air  chilled  him,  but 
he  heeded  it  not.  He  passed  deserted  houses,  in  many 
of  which  ho  had  often  found  warm  welcome.  He  met 
funeral  biers  unattended  by  a  single  mourner.  He 
shuddered.  A  feeling  of  horror  stole  over  him.  The 
ever-deepening  quietude  terrified  him.  Gladly  he 
reached  his  journey's  end,  and  rang  the  bell  of  the 


WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED.  399 

presbytery  beside  the  cathedral.  The  priest  opened 
tlie  door  himself.  His  servants  had  left  him.  Ilobert 
explained  his  mission,  and  paused,  half  fearing  the  priest 
would  refuse  to  accompany  him. 

"There  is  no  time  to  bo  lost,"  said  the  priest  calmly. 
Together,  in  silence,  the  two  men  now  returned  to  the 
sufferer.  He  was  unconscious.  For  nearly  an  hour 
the  priest  remained  at  the  bedside,  praying.  At  last 
he  was  rewarded.  The  patient  recognized  him. 

"  Oh,  Father!  "  he  said  joyfully,  "  I  have  had  such  a 
strange  dream !  But  now  it  is  Christmas  morning.  I 
hear  the  choir.  Listen,"  and  he  half  raised  himself, 
"listen  to  the  Pastoris  fides." 

The  priest  saw  that  his  mind  was  wandering,  and 
made  no  reply. 

"The  morning  is  about  to  dawn,"  said  the  musician, 
"or  what  is  that  light?" 

"The  dawn  of  the  Resurrection,"  murmured  the  priest; 
then,  speaking  in  a  loud,  clear  voice,  he  said,  "Is  there 
anything  troubling  your  conscience?" 

The  voice  seemed  to  arrest  his  attention  for  a  moment, 
but  only  for  a  moment. 

"  See,"  he  said,  trying  to  raise  himself  again,  "see 
the  expression  on  his  face,  the  archangel,  adoring  his 
God.  And  the  light — it  must  be  the  sanctuary  lamp 
that  makes  his  armor  so  resplendent." 

The  priest  saw  that  he  was  still  delirious. 

"Father!"  cried  he,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "the 
angels  are  filling  the  sanctuary.  Michael  is  leading 
them,  and  they  are  singing  with  wonderful  sweetness. 
Hark— Pastoris  fides!  " 

Again  he  was  quiet  for  some  time,  and  not  a  sound 
was  heard  in  the  room.  Ilobert  Winthrop  stood  by,  in 
awe-stricken  silence.  The  priest  was  reading  the  pray- 


400  WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED. 

ers  for  the   dying.     But   at   last   the   musician   spoke 
again,  in  a  weaker  and  more  uncertain  voice. 

"It  is  cold,  yes,"  he  said,  as  if  addressing  some  one, 
but  no,  thank  you,  I  will  not  have  a  fire."  Then,  chang 
ing  his  tone:  "Father,  do  not  look  so  reproachful.  It 
is  almost  paid — next  Thursday — next  Thursday.  Oh, 
the  light  is  da,zzling!  It  hides  the  altar  and  the  face  of 
the  archangel,  and  I  cannot  feel  the  notes — Pastoris 
fides—" 

His  voice  died  away;  he  gave  a  convulsive  start;  his 
breathing  grew  heavy;  his  chest  began  to  heave;  his 
eyes  turned  far  up  in  his  head,  and  in  the  course  of  an 
hour  the  musician  was  dead.  Dead,  at  the  very  time 
when  his  creditor  was  counting  his  latest  receipt,  and 
praising  the  honesty  and  singleness  of  purpose  which 
had  discharged  in  full  his  father's  debt. 

By  degrees  the  plague  diminished.  Azrael  spread 
his  wings  and  fled  away,  far  over  the  dark  blue  heav 
ens.  The  fair  city,  so  long  drooping  under  terrible 
woe,  raised  its  head,  and  life  began  anew  its  ceaseless 
course  upon  which  a  benumbing  hand  had  been  laid. 
At  Christmas  time  the  cathedral  was  filled  with  wor 
shippers,  and  as  they  streamed  out  into  the  frosty  air, 
many  paused  to  read  a  marble  tablet,  upon  which  in 
gilt  letters  was  inscribed : 

SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY 

OF 

CONRAD    MULLER, 

An  Organist  of  the  Cathedral, 
WHO    DIED    A    MARTYR    TO    CHARITY, 

Oct.  12,  18—. 
Itequiescat  in  Pace. 

A  new  organist  was  at  the  organ,  but  many  remarked 
that  the  music  was  not  what  it  used  to  be.  The  old 


WHAT    A    STRAIN    OF    MUSIC    CAUSED.  401 

strain  seemed  to  have  been  forgotten,  and  the  Christmas 
song  of  the  shepherds  was  only  dimly  remembered  by 
some. 

So  the  musician  was  dead,  and  another  had  taken  his 
place  at  the  organ.  Some  dwellers  in  the  neighborhood, 
knowing  the  legend  of  the  place,  declared  that  still  at 
times  in  the  solemn  twilights,  they  heard  the  organ 
playing  with  unearthly  sweetness,  and  the  Christmas 
song  of  the  shepherds,  which  the  dead  organist  had  so 
loved,  again  floating  out  over  the  square.  It  was  but 
their  fancy,  for  save  at  rehearsals,  or  on  festival  days, 
the  organ  stood  cold  and  silent  as  the  grave  near  by, 
wherein  the  dead  musician  slept.  For  he  touched  not 
again  the  keys,  nor  knelt  before  the  chancel  rail,  where 
he  had  been  wont  to  lay  the  burden  of  each  day.  He 
recrossed  no  more  the  dark  and  silent  river.  He  had 
met  his  kindred  in  the  heavenly  city,  far  over  its  turbid 
waters.  But  the  red  light  of  the  sanctuary  lamp  still 
fell  upon  the  adoring  face  of  the  archangel,  and  lingered 
upon  his  armor.  So  did  it  glow  among  all  the  lights 
upon  the  altar,  when  Kobert  Winthrop  and  Adele  War 
ner  were  wedded.  But  the  musician  slept  pale  and 
peaceful  in  the  church-yard  hard  by,  and  saw  it  not. 


26 


402  YALE    AND    HARVARD    DISAGREE. 


YALE  AND  HARVARD  DISAGREE. 

YALE  COLLEGE,  NEW  HAVEN,  CONN. 

*  *  *  In  Whitney's  Essentials  of  English  Grammar,  pages  57  and 
58,  will  be  found  the  principles  that  meet  the  case,  and  decide  the  ques 
tion  submitted  to  me  about  the  use  of  the  apostrophe.  I  would  state 
the  principles  thus :  The  possessive  case  was  originally  in  the  singular 
and  masculine,  a  contraction  for  his;  as  John  his  book  (John  — 's  book). 
If  the  name  ended  in  s,  it  would  make  a  hissing  sound  to  attempt  to 
pronounce  two  s's  together;  as  Hopkins's  book.  Hence  the  rule:  When 
ever  the  noun  ends  in  s,  do  not  write  an  additional  s  with  an  apostro 
phe  between,  but  simply  annex  an  apostrophe;  thus,  Hopkins'  book.  The 
Game  in  case  the  noun  is  in  the  plural,  and  takes  an  s :  the  Societies' 
rights.  Youth  presents  a  difficulty,  because  it  is  a  collective  noun,  and 
therefore  suggests  the  opinion  that  it  should  be  treated  as  a  plural  end 
ing  in  s;  but  it  is  to  be  treated  as  a  singular,  and  it  does  not  end  in  s. 
Therefore,  the  title  of  your  institution  should  be  written  ' '  The  Youth's 
Directory. "  It  may  be  urged  that  we  ought  to  distinguish  between  youth 
singular,  as  "a  youth,"  i.e.,  a  young  man;  and  youth  collective,  as  "our 
youth,"  i.e.,  all  our  young  people.  This,  however,  is  indicated  by  the 
connection,  and  cannot  alter  the  rule  about  the  s,  which  is  founded  on 
reason  of  easy  utterance  and  euphony.  Excuse  very  great  haste. 

Truly  yours, 

NOAH  PORTER,  President. 


HARVARD  UNIVERSITY,  CAMBRIDGE,  MASS. 

*  *  *  In  reference  to  the  question  which  you  have  submitted  for 
my  decision,  I  have  no  doubt  that  "The  Youths'  Directory,"  as  you  now 
have  it,  is  a  correct  name  for  your  institution;  "youths'"  being  the 
genitive  plural  of  (a)  youth.  The  phrase  then  means  a  directory  for 
youths,  or  lads.  "  Youth's  Directory, "  without  the  article  the,  would 
also  be  correct  in  the  sense  of  a  directory  for  the  collective  body 
of  youth,  male  and  female;  but  this  is  not  what  you  intend.  The  diffi 
culty  arises  partly  from  the  use  of  the  genitive  or  possessive  case,  in 
stead  of  the  preposition  for.  Your  establishment,  as  I  understand  it,  is 
a  protectory  for  "boys."  *  *  * 

Respectfully  yours, 

CHARLES  W.  ELIOT,  President. 


THE    LESSON    FOB    THE    DAY.  403 

THE  LESSON  FOE  THE  DAY. 

BY  MRS.  JESSIE  BENTON  FREMONT. 

IT  is  very  uncomfortable  to  feel  all  out  of  tune — not 
to  be  in  harmony  with  what  one  has  to  do,  but  to  feel 
rather  that  everything  seerns  misplaced  and  jarring. 
So  a  dav  began  to  me  lately,  and  what  put  me  in  accord 
I  will  tell: 

Maybe  I  had  been  put  out  by  the  return  of  snow  after 
the  soft  April  days  had  begun  to  give  us  rest,  and  relax 
the  sense  of  stiffened  resistance  the  long,  stormy  winter 
has  given  to  most  of  us;  maybe  it  was  the  disappoint 
ment  of  a  delay — that  ' '  law's  delay"  which  Shakespeare 
rated  as  cause  for  madness  and  contempt  of  life. 
Maybe  it  was  even  the  mistake  in  time,  that  left  no  re 
source  but  a  train  to  the  wrong  side  of  the  town  and 
the  old  Thirtieth  street  station,  which,  always  cheerless 
and  dingy,  has  become  quite  hateful  since  we  have 
been  used  to  the  beauty  and  order  of  that  on  Forty- 
second  street.  We  all  know  how  a  trifling  sound  star 
tles  one  who  is  listening  intently;  and  in  the  same  way 
when  one's  strength  is  turned  to  enduring  large  things, 
there  is  no  nerve  left  for  trifles,  so  that  we  are  some 
times  made  ashamed  by  the  undue  influence  they  have 
on  us.  Anyway  I  was  all  out  of  tune,  and  took  my 
place  with  a  sense  of  being  unfairly  aggrieved. 

It  was  a  slow  way-train,  with  many  stoppages,  but 
only  a  few  persons  traveled  about  at  that  hour  and  in 
such  weather.  The  snow  fell  so  fast  and  thick  that  only 
the  dark,  flowing  river  bordering  the  track  could  be 
seen,  and  as  there  was  nothing  to  refresh  the  eyes,  the 
inner  life  came  up  the  more  clearly,  and  soon  the  last 
beads  added  to  my  rosary  brought  comforting  thoughts 
and  new  strength. 


404  THE     LESSON    FOR    THE     DAY. 

My  rosary  can  be  used  by  all  creeds,  and  is  one 
among  the  good  things  money  cannot  buy.  It  is  not  to 
be  made  with  hands.  It  has  to  be  formed  patiently 
and  by  unseen  processes,  as  are  precious  gems:  some 
heat  of  feeling,  some  torrent  of  emotion,  and  these  crys 
tallize  into  enduring  form  and  beauty. 
,  Words  are  so  poor,  so  narrow  and  colorless,  that  ifc 
is  weary  work  to  paint  a  feeling;  impossible  to  make 
clear  except  through  the  instinct  of  sympathy,  that 
liner  essence  of  feeling  which  is  to  a  fact  as  the  perfume 
is  to  the  flower.  But  whoever  has  felt  the  truth  of  the 
common  expression,  "I  would  not  give  up  my  recol 
lection  of  that  for  anything,"  knows  what  I  mean,  and 
has  all  ready  loose  beads  for  this  rosary  of  memory : 
put  them  together,  add  to  them,  and  turn  to  them  in 
times  of  troubled  mind,  and  find  "  continual  comfort" 
from  their  reminding,  reviving  influence. 

In  Spanish  there  are  two  verbs  "to  be."  One,  ser, 
is  for  the  things  that  do  not  change — soy  hombre.  Estar 
is  for  the  transient  phases  of  being — estoy  fdix.  We 
only  say,  equally:  I  am  a  man;  I  am  happy. 

"  This  old  road  of  human  life 
Is  very  roughly  laid," 

and  we  need  to  beware  of  over-burdening  ourselves  for 
the  march  over  it.  Is  it  not  best  to  keep  the  good  and 
happy  memories  under  sery  and  let  cstar  carry  off  the 
worries  ? 

My  last  beads  might  have  been  of  amber  and  topaz; 
soon  they  gave  their  own  coloring  even  to  the  stormy 
day. 

Howl  away,  you  north  wind,  and  fall  fast  and  sharp, 
you  chilling  snow!  The  tender  lungs  I  have  trembled 
for  are  safe  in  the  sunshine  country.  You  cannot  reach 


THE     LESSON    FOR    THE     DAY.  405 

them  here.  *  *  *  *  This  is  a  second  Eden.  I 
never  cough  now.  I  have  no  pain.  I  climbed  the  moun 
tain  and  was  not  tired  or  out  of  breath.  I  was  as  hungry 
and  slept  as  well  as  in  the  Tyrol-time. 

" I/em  liebes  land  Tyrol!"  and  Guy's  big  voice  seemed 
to  be  chanting  that  lament  of  Andreas  Hofer. 

Was  it  only  fancy,  or  was  there  a  real  voice  speaking 
German  near  me  ?  Not  a  song  out  of  my  memory,  but 
an  actual  low,  sobbing,  grieved  voice  ? 

I  had  been  hearing  it  vaguely,  fitting  it  unconsciously 
into  the  sounds  from  the  train  and  the  storm.  But 
there  it  was  in  sad  reality, — not  the  wail  of  the  winds 
nor  the  throb  of  the  engine,  but  the  moan  of  a  burdened 
heart. 

Just  opposite  to  me  was  a  group,  who  got  in  at 
Dobbs'  Ferry.  They  were  slow  in  entering  and  seating 
themselves,  and  the  door  staying  so  long  opened  had  let 
in  a  rush  of  sleety  wind,  which  made  me  pull  my  furs 
closer  and  turn  more  and  more  away  into  the  pleasant 
thoughts  ''inside  myself,"  as  a  young  German  friend 
puts  it.  So,  until  now,  I  had  not  noticed  that  it  was  a 
family  in  grief. 

Nearest,  and  on  my  side,  were  a  little  child  and  its 
young  nurse,  and  a  healthy  lad  whose  round  face  was 
awed  into  seriousness.  Across  the  aisle  the  seats  had 
been  opened,  and  the  four  who  sat  there  were  so  near, 
and  once  seen,  so  painfully  interesting,  that  I  could  but 
choose  to  know  of  them.  Their  deep  grief  and  simple 
sincerity  of  feeling  isolated  them  as  completely  as  though 
they  were  in  an  unoccupied  place. 

A  dark-haired,  comely,  middle-aged  woman  and  a 
young  man  who  resembled  her  enough  to  tell  their  rela 
tionship,  sat  together;  facing  them,  were  a  thin-featured, 
blue-eyed  young  man  of  the  German  type,  and  the  slight, 
bending  figure  of  a  young  woman,  evidently  his  sister. 


4:06  THE     LESSON    FOR    THE    DAY. 

They  were  of  the  large  class  that  have  neither  time  nor 
money  to  give  to  outward  expressions  of  grief.  Death 
is  to  them  not  only  the  dreadful  certainty  of  separation, 
but,  where  it  takes  the  head  of  the  family,  the  certain 
loss  of  support  also;  and  a  demand  for  sub-division  of 
already  scanty  means  among  those  left  helpless  and  for 
the  time  dependent.  Soon  must  come  the  blessed  pro 
vision  of  work,  which  brings  numbness,  if  not  healing. 
If  only  work  can  be  had!  Meantime,  the  day  taken 
from  work,  the  fresh  but  very  humble  mourning  clothes, 
the  tired  eyelids  and  sunken  eyes  of  the  fair-haired  man, 
with  his  set  face — a  fine,  good  face, — told  they  had  been 
parting  from  their  dead.  They  talked  in  German,  and 
their  voices  were  low  from  emotion ,  and  tired  and  heavy 
sounding:  the  two  men  and  the  mother  were  evidently 
settling  something  that  could  not  be  delayed.  I  do  not 
know  German,  but  their  voices  were  like  themselves, 
sincere,  and  expressed  each  feeling  as  well  as  tone- 
music,  and  I  could  gather  that  some  decision  had  to  be 
made  at  once,  and  they  were  talking  it  over,  with  many 
a  stop  for  tears.  It  was  the  dark-haired  young  man 
whose  deep  sobs  I  had  heard; — I  inferred  he  was  a 
brother  of  the  one  they  mourned  for,  as  the  other  was 
evidently  brother  to  the  fair-haired  little  widow.  The 
men  had  put  a  band  of  crape  on  their  Sunday  hats  and 
wore  their  best  clothes,  of  the  warmer  blues  and  browns 
that  subside  into  our  gloomy  black  as  their  countrymen 
become  absorbed  into  our  colorless  national  life;  but 
just  as  they  were,  mismatched  and  homely  gear,  the 
loveliness  of  family  affection  and  upright,  truthful  fam 
ily  care  and  protection,  made  them  unconscious  subjects 
of  sympathy  and  respect  to  the  whole  car-full  of 
passengers. 

Even   the   conductor,   a   cheery  young  man,  looked 
troubled,  and  went  softly  about  his  ticket-taking;  and 


THE    LESSON    FOR     THE    DAY.  407 

the  brakeman,  coming  in  from  out  the  storm,  as  the 
sobs  met  his  ear,  slipped  out  again.  A  gentleman  be 
hind  me  folded  his  newspaper  and  crossed  to  the  next 
car,  gently,  as  one  leaves  church  during  service.  Ah! 
I  thought,  these  rough  times  have  given  you  more  trouble 
than  you  can  carry,  perhaps — it  will  not  do  to  add  weight, 
or  lose  heart  by  the  day's  experience. 

They  were  all  subdued,  but  the  silent  one  of  the  four 
was  the  little  woman.  She  was  all  drooped  and  fallen 
in,  as  it  were.  She  sat  by  the  window,  neither  looking 
out  nor  seeing  anything  near.  Her  eyes  had  that 
strained  effect  of  looking  after  what  has  gone  beyond 
sight,  and  though  the  rest  wept  often,  her  face  remained 
hushed  and  still;  only  some  big  tear-drops  rolling  from 
the  lids  and  falling,  bright,  against  her  black  vail.  At 
one  time  her  head  fell  forward,  and  I  thought  she  had 
fainted.  Her  brother  put  his  arm  about  her,  and  her 
head  rested  on  his  shoulder,  and  I  saw  she  slept.  All 
the  watching  was  over  now. 

As  the  train  stopped  at  Yonkers,  and  other  sounds 
abated,  this  woman's  voice  was  heard  for  the  only 
time.  Without  any  understanding  of.  the  words,  it 
was  easy  to  know  she  was  saying  that  she  did  not 
care — that  something  they  referred  to  was  not  worth 
while,  that  it  was  not  wanted  by  her.  The  voice  was 
naturally  a  clear-throat  voice — soft  and  low.  Now  it  was 
so  full  of  dead,  tired  lonesomeness  that  no  recitative  I 
ever  heard  approached  its  power  of  expression;  and  the 
little  German  I  know  gave  me  the  full  force  of  the  pa 
thetic  words  with  which  she  stopped  speaking, — Alles  ist 
gegangen — repeating  them  again  as  echo  to  herself — 
alles  ist  gegangen, — all  is  over — ended — done!  There 
was  no  going  back  now  to  the  rose-colored  memories. 
They  had  done  their  gentle  office  of  resting  and  calm 
ing,  and  now  came  the  work  of  the  day;  and  this  chance- 


408  THE    LESSON    FOR    THE    DAY. 

meeting  -with  a  real  loss  had  brought  also  the  lesson  for 
the  day.  Suddenly  I  had  realized  the  nothingness  of 
all  other  possessions  compared  to  an  unbroken  home. 

" Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make,"  nor  can  the 
most  beautiful  walls  of  man's  building  create  a  home, — • 
only  a  ''house,  a  dwelling-place,  a  habitation."  The 
home  is  like  Burns'  honest  man,  "above  his  might," 
although  he  be  King,  or  money  which  is  so  often  King. 

I  had  had  the  privilege  of  one  of  those  clear  looks 
into  life  which  leave  one  freed  and  lifted,  and  the  blind 
gods  we  have  fashioned  for  ourselves,  Fortune  and 
Justice,  sank  to  their  proper  level  among  other  human 
circumstance.  My  lesson  was  accepted,  leaving  me 
grateful  that  so  little  was  required  of  me. 

I  wished  to  have  said  a  little  word  of  sympathy  to  the 
benumbed  little  woman,  but  we  are  always  shy  of  wli&t 
is  natural  and  good,  and  besides,  how  to  do  so  without 
any  words  at  command  ?  For  the  hundredth  time  I  was 
self-reproached  for  neglecting  to  study  German.  I 
could  only  recall  bits  of  songs,  of  travelers'  phrases,  of 
political  and  war  expressions, — misfits,  all. 

For  once  the  old  station  was  welcome.  Letting  the 
crowd  pass  out,  I  followed  across  the  now  empty  wait 
ing-room,  where  I  saw  again  part  of  this  family  group. 
The  elder  woman  was  sitting  aside,  busied  with  the 
tired  child  that  was  fretting,  but  the  little  widow, 
quite  alone,  had  advanced  towards  the  ticket-stand, 
where  she  stopped,  wavering  as  though  about  to  fall. 
I  went  to  her  and  took  her  hand,  and  some  way  German 
words  did  come  to  me.  She  looked  at  me  an  instant, 
and  answered,  showing  she  knew  what  I  meant;  when 
her  hand  tightened,  her  eyes  stared  forward,  and  she 
winced  and  shivered  as  she  looked  down  the  long  room 
towards  some  men  moving  slowly  together. 

"Hold  her  back,  madam,"  said  a  man  at  the  door, 
"they  are  bringing  IT  out 


A    FLIGHT    WITH    ARIEL.  409 


A  FLIGHT  WITH  ARIEL. 

BY  ALBERT  PIKE. 

I  HAD  a  dream:  Methonght  Ariel  came, 

And  bade  me  follow  him;  and  I  arose; 
Lighter  my  body  seemed  than  subtile  flame, 

Or  than  the  invisible  wind  that  always  blows 
Above  the  clouds.     So  upward  I  did  aim, 

"With  quick  flight,  as  the  sky-lark  sunward  goes, 
Led  by  the  splendor  of  Ariel's  wing, 
Whose  snowy  light  before  fled,  glittering. 

So,  floating  upward  through  the  roseate  air, 
And  through  the  wide  interstices  of  cloud, 

We  climbed  the  mist-hills,  till  we  halted,  where 
The  frowning  peaks  beneath  the  azure  glowed; 

Then  gazed  I  all  around;  no  sun  blazed  there, 
But  crimson  light  through  the  pure  ether  flowed. 

And  dimmed  the  moon's  eye  and  the  stars'  white  cones, 

Till  they  were  scarce  seen  on  their  golden  thrones. 

Awhile  we  trod  along  the  shivering  peaks 

Of  foaming  cloud;  over  entangled  rifts 
Of  purple  light;  through  crimson-misted  breaks; 

And  saw  blue  lightning  crouching  in  white  drifts, 
Eestless  and  quivering,  while  the  broad,  deep  lakes 

Of  vapor  tremble  as  he  stirs  and  shifts, 
Waked  by  the  diapason  of  the  thunder, 
That  swells  upon  the  wild  wind  rushing  under. 

And  moored  within  a  labyrinthine  bay 

Girded  by  massive  foam-cliffs,  rough,  storm-worn, 
On  a  flat  shore  of  leaden  vapor,  lay 

A  boat  carved  out  of  orange  mist,  which  morn 
Had  hardened  into  crystal,  many  a  day, 


410  A    FLIGHT    WITH    AKIEL. 

Deep  in  a  rift  in  a  vast  glacier  torn : 
"We  stepped  on  board,  we  loosed  her  from  trie  bank, 
Our  thirsty  sail,  spread  wide,  the  breezes  drank. 

And  swiftly  then  our  winged  bark  flew  on, 

"While  I  sat  looking  downward  from  the  prow; 

Down  broad,  shade-margined  rivers,  dark  and  dun, 
Over  smooth  lakes,  sea-green,  with  golden  glow, 

Flecked  with  broad  black  spots,  here  and  there,  upon 
Their  mirrored  surface :  now  we  float  below 

Like  a  fleet  shadow,  over  the  vex'd  breast 

Of  boundless,  billowy  oceans  of  white  mist, 

Then  rushed  we  into  chasms,  deep,  wide  and  black, 
By  huge,  bleak,  stormy  mountains,  of  the  foam 

And  rolling  masses  of  the  thunder-rack; 
Dark,  quivering  precipices  of  deep  gloom, 

Aeries  of  brooding  lightning;  and  did  tack 

In  narrow  inlets,  through  which  roared  the  boom 

Of  the  mad  wind;  wherein  did  thunder  dream, 

And  on  the  far  blue  waves  his  lightnings  gleam. 

And  then  we  issued  to  the  open  vast 

Of  cloudless  air  above;  and  while  the  sail 

Its  silver  shade  upon  my  forehead  cast, 

Like  lightning  or  swift  thought,  before  the  gale 

Fled  our  bright  bark.   Strange  wonders  there  we  passed, 
Currents  of  astral  light,  cold,  thin  and  pale, 

Strange,  voiceless  birds  that  never  sink  to  earth, 

And  troops  of  fairies  dancing  in  mad  mirth. 

Then  we  descended,  till  our  barque  did  float 
Above  the  peak  of  one  lone  mountain;  and 

Ariel  furled  the  sail,  and  moored  our  boat 
Upon  the  margin  of  a  narrow  strand 

Of  undulating  mist,  that  from  remote 

And  dangerous  seas  had  come,  o'er  many  a  land — 


A    FLIGHT    WITH    ARIEL.  411 

An  amaranthine  effluence  of  ocean, 
Changing  forever  with  eternal  motion. 

Then,  bending  from  the  helm,  Ariel  gazed 

With  keen  eyes  downward  through  the  mighty  vast, 

And  waved  his  hand.     The  piles  of  rnist  upraised, 
That  on  the  mountain's  lofty  crown  were  massed; 

And,  gazing  earthward,  eager  and  amazed, 

While  either  way  the  rent  clouds  slowly  passed, 

I  saw  a  mighty  palace,  reared  upon 

The  grey,  scarred  summit  of  that  towering  cone. 

Columns  of  gold,  with  emerald  inwrought, 

Ruby  and  jasper,  and  infoliate 
With  leaves  of  silver,  intricate  as  thought; 

Statues  of  gold,  intercolumniate; 
Great  altars,  fed  with  costly  odors,  bought 

With  toil  and  blood,  and  round  the  rude  doors  wait 
Large  hosts  of  slaves,  bending  the  patient  knee, 
As  though  they  lingered  there  some  King  to  see. 

"  Here,"  said  Ariel,  "  liveth  Tyranny, 

Kemorseless  reveller  in  war  and  blood. 

And  these  that  humbly  bend  the  supple  knee, — 

Within  whose  inmost  heart-cells  ever  brood 
Hatred,  despair,  chill  fear  and  misery, 

Peopling  with  terrors  the  sad  solitude, — 
These  are  his  slaves.     They  bow  there,  night  and  day, 
And  costly  homage  to  his  altars  pay. 

"  And  now,  behold!  forth  from  his  broad  gates  ride 
His  kindred  fiends,  the  tools  of  his  fierce  ire, 

Your  glorious  republic  to  divide, 

Friend  against  friend,  the  son  against  the  sire, 

And  near  their  graves  who  for  your  freedom  died, 
Slay  with^the  sword  and  devastate  with  fire : 

And  I  have  brought  thee  here,  that  thou  mayest  tell 

Thy  countrymen  to  shun  that  purple  Hell." 


412  A    FLIGHT    WITH    ARIEL. 

Then,  with  a  roar  like  thunder,  open  flew 

The  brazen  gates,  and  all  the  mountain  shivered 

And  trembled  like  a  child;  and  far  off,  through 
The  distant  hills,  against  the  grey  rocks  echoed 

That  awful  sound;  and  a  wild  voice  that  grew 
A  terror  to  me,  surging  upward,  delivered, 

In  tones  that  like  a  brazen  trumpet  roared, 

The  order  for  the  inarch : — Forth  came  the  horde ! 

First  came  Ambition,  with  his  discous  eye, 
And  tiger-spring,  and  hot  and  eager  speed, 

Flushed  cheek,  imperious  glance,  demeanor  high, — • 
He  in  the  portal  striding  his  black  steed, 

Stained  fetlock-deep  with  red  blood  not  yet  dry, 
And  flecked  with  foam  did  the  wild  cohort  lead, 

Down  the  rough  mountain,  heedless  of  the  crowd 

Of  slaves  that  round  the  altar-steps  yet  bowed. 

Next  came  red  Rashness,  with  his  restless  step, 

In  whose  large  eyes  glowed  the  fierce  fire  that  boiled 

In  his  broad  chest.     Large  gouts  of  blood  did  drip 
From  his  drawn  sword :  the  trembling  slaves  recoiled : 

Scorn  and  fierce  passion  curled  his  writhing  lip; 

His  dress  was  torn  with  furious  haste,  and  soiled; — • 

So,  springing  on  his  reeking  steed,  he  shook 

The  reins,  and  downward  his  swift  journey  took. 

Then  came  dark  Disappointment,  with  the  foam 
Of  rage  upon  his  lips,  sad  step  and  slow, 

Stern,  wrinkled  brow,  clenched  teeth,  and  heavy  gloom, 
Like  a  shadow  on  his  e}*es, — in  these  a  glow 

Like  that  of  baleful  stars  within  a  tomb; 
His  tangled  locks  left  in  the  wind  to  blow; 

And  so  did  he  forth  from  the  palace  stride, 

And  stalk  away  down  the  steep  mountain-side. 

Next  followed  Envy,  with  deep-sunken  eye, 
Glaring  upon  his  mates.     He  beat  his  breast, 


A    FLIGHT    WITH    ARIEL. 

And  gnashed  his  teeth,  with  many  a  bitter  sigh; 

For  in  his  heart,  deep  in  its  core,  a  nest 
Of  fiery  scorpions  gnawed,  that  never  die, 

Writhing  and  stinging  ever;  on  he  pressed, 
Mounted  upon  a  pale  and  hound-eyed  steed, 
And  down  the  mountain  snarling  did  proceed. 

And  then  old  Avarice,  tottering  out,  appeared, 
With  wrinkled  front  and  gray  and  matted  hair, 

And  elfish  eyes,  blue-circled,  small  and  bleared; 
He  slowly  walked,  with  cautious,  prying  air, 

Working  his  lips  under  his  filthy  beard, 

Peering  upon  the  ground  with  searching  eye, 

Clutching  a  purse  with  yellow  wasted  hand, 

And  so  he  followed  the  descending  band. 

Then  came  Corruption,  with  his  serpent  tongue, 
Quick,  hurried  gait,  and  eye  astute,  yet  bold; 

And  while,  amid  the  crouching,  base,  bowed  throng 
Of  suppliant  slaves,  he  did  his  quick  way  hold, 

He  loudly  hurried  Avarice  along, 

Who  crawled  before  him  with  his  bag  of  gold; 

Bestriding  then  his  rich-apparelled  steed, 

He  followed  swiftly  where  his  mates  did  lead. 

Next,  dark  Fanaticism,  his  haggard  face 
Flushing  with  holy  anger,  down  the  track 

Went,  loud  bewailing  that  the  good  old  days 
Of  fire  and  faggot  had  not  yet  come  back, 

When  error  was  a  crime,  and  to  the  ways 
Of  truth  men  were  persuaded  by  the  rack; 

On  either  side,  a  little  in  advance, 

Bigotry  rode,  and  harsh  Intolerance. 

Hypocrisy  came  next,  prim,  starched  and  staid, 
With  folded  hands  and  upturned  pious  eyes, 
As  though  God's  law  he  punctually  obeyed; 


414  A    FLIGHT    WITH    ABIEL. 

His  sordid  greed  seeks  its  base  end  by  lies; 
He  lusts  for  evSry  ripe,  voluptuous  maid, 

Then  wrings  his  hands,  and  prays,  and  loudly  cries, 
"  Owner  of  men!  stand  off,  afar,  while  I, 
"  Holier  than  thou  art,  piously  pass  by!" 

And  next  came  Treason,  with  his  blood-stained  hand, 
Deep,  black,  fierce  eye,  and  bold,  unquailing  air; 

"While  even  as  he  passed  his  hot  breath  fanned 
The  groveling  slaves  into  rebellion  there; 

His  armor  clashed,  and  his  broad  battle-brand 
Did  in  the  purple  sheen  like  lightning  glare; 

And  so  his  fiery  courser  he  bestrode, 

The  echo  of  whose  hoofs  roared  down  the  road. 

Last  came  King  Anarchy.     His  cold  eyes  flashed 
With  red  fire  blazing  up  from  Hell's  abyss; 

His  large  white  wolf-teeth  angrily  he  gnashed, 
His  blue  lips  parted  like  a  tigress's; 

His  dusky  destrier  was  with  foam  besplashed, 
And  fiery  serpents  did  around  him  hiss, 

Writhing  amid  his  war-steed's  misty  mane, 

Whose  hoofs  the  young  grass  scorched  like  fiery  rain. 

As  he  rode  down,  there  mustered  in  the  rear 
A  hideous  flock,  some  few  in  human  form, 

Some  shapeless.     Here  came  crouching  by, pale  Fear, 
Revenge  and  Wrath,  and  Eapine,  a  base  swarm; 

And  Cruelty  and  Murder,  and  their  peer, 
Red  Persecution,  pouring  a  hot  storm 

Of  fire  and  blood  from  his  relentless  hand; 

All  these  are  under  Anarchy's  command. 

When  the  horde  passed  below  the  mountain's  brow, 
With  clashing  hoof,  mad  turmoil  and  loud  din, 

Within  the  hall  there  rose  a  wild  halloo, 
As  though  a  thousand  fiends  rejoiced  therein; 


A    FLIGHT    WITH    ARIEL.  415 

The  upper  air  vibrated  it  unto, 

The  currents  trembled  of  its  crimson  sheen; 
The  lightning-lofts  were  shaken;  and  our  boat 
Hocked  on  the  strand  where  the  harsh  echo  smote. 

Then  did  Ariel  lift  the  snowy  sail, 

Of  our  ethereal  barque.     The  helm  he  took, 

And  up  behind  us  sprang  a  gentle  gale, 

Murmuring  astern,  like  a  sweet  summer-brook, 

That  broad-leaved  water-plants  from  daylight  veil; 
And,  while  the  sail  a  snowy  brightness  shook 

Upon  the  prow,  I  lay  and  watched  the  boat, 

Steered  by  Ariel,  on  its  voyage  float. 

Then,  passing  swiftly,  with  a  favoring  gale, 

Bound  the  grey  forehead  of  the  storm-scarred  hill, 

We  did  descend.  Near  us  the  moonlight  pale 
Slept  in  thick  masses,  soberly  and  still, 

In  the  deep  nooks  of  many  a  purple  vale, 
Of  frosted  mist;  and  down  a  ringing  rill 

Of  sunlight,  flowing  past  a  lofty  bank 

Of  amber  cloud,  toward  the  green  earth  we  sank. 

And  then  we  passed  by  mountain-nourished  rivers, 
Vexed  to  white  foam  by  rocks  their  sides  that  galled; 

Near  hoary  crags,  by  lightning  split  to  shivers, 
Peopled  by  nervous  eagles,  grey  and  bald; 

Forests  wherein  the  wind-wave  always  quivers, 
Shaking  their  deep  hearts  green  as  emerald; 

Lakes  that,  like  woman's  bosom,  panting,  swell, 

Eobed  with  the  living  foam  of  asphodel. 

Within  the  shadow  of  old  crumbling  columns, 
Along  these  lakes  we  sailed,  and  saw  beneath 

Great  water-snakes  rolling  their  scaly  volumes 
Among  the  water-vines  that  there  did  wreathe; 

Through  chasms  of  purple  gloom,  with  rivers  solemn 


4:16  A    FLIGHT    WITH    ARIEL. 

Moaning  between  their  jagged,  rocky  teeth; 
And  then  again  above  the  earth  we  lifted, 
And  lowered  the  sail,  and  helmlessly  there  drifted. 

Below  us,  stretching  from  the  broad  green  sea 
Unto  the  prairies,  did  a  fair  laod  lie, 

Studded  with  lakes  as  still  as  porphyry, 
And  blue  hills  sleeping  in  the  bluer  sky, 

From  whose  white  cones5  serene  sublimity 
The  snowy  lightning  dazzled  the  sun's  eye; 

The  amethystine  rivers  thence  rolled  down 

To  fling  their  foam  on  ocean's  hoary  crown. 

Great  cities,  queen-like,  stood  upon  his  shore, 

And  on  the  banks  of  those  majestic  rivers, 
/  .And  near  broad  lakes,  where  at  the  awful  roar 

Of  one  great  cataract  the  stunned  earth  shivers; 

Ships  went  and  came  in  squadrons,  nocking  o'er 
That  ocean  which  the  Old  and  New  World  severs, 

Shading  the  bays  and  rivers  with  their  sails, 

Their  starred  flags  laughing  at  propitious  gales. 

Broad  fields  spread  inland,  robed  in  green  and  gold, 
And  waving  with  a  mighty  wealth  of  grain, 

From  where  the  bear  snarled  at  the  arctic  cold, 
To  the  Mexic  Gulf,  and  the  Pacific  Main; 

Far  South,  in  snowy  undulations,  rolled, 

"With  their  white  harvests  many  a  treeless  plain; 

And  Avhere  the  Sierra  westwardly  inclines, 

Gleamed  a  new  Ophir,  with  its  glittering  mines. 

The  Throne  of  Liberty  stood  in  that  land, 
Its  guards  the  Law  and  Constitution;  these, 

These  and  no  other  held  supreme  command, 

And  everywhere,  through  all  the  land,  was  peace. 

Grim  Despotism  fast  in  his  iron  hand 

Held  all  men's  rights  in  the  ancient  monarchies; 


A    FLIGHT    WITH    ARIEL.  417 

But  Freedom  reigned  here  undisturbed  and  calm, 
Holding  an  eag. ..,  on  her  snowy  palrn. 

Then,  as  I  gazed,  it  seemed  men's  hearts  became 
Transparent  to  me  as  the  crimsoned  air, 

Or  as  the  thin  sheet  of  a  subtile  flame; 
And  I  could  see  the  Passions  working  there 

Like  restless  serpents;  how  they  went  and  came, 
And  writhed  or  slept  within  their  fiery  lair; 

So  that  I  saw  the  cause  of  each  vibration 

That  shook  the  heart-strings  of  that  youthful  nation. 

I  watched  the  souls  of  all  that  people,  when 
That  train  of  fiends  did  thitherward  repair; 

I  saw  old  creeping  Avarice  crouch  therein, 
Like  a  caged  panther;  and  his  grizzled  hair 

Choked  up  the  springs  of  Virtue,  so  that  men 
Were  proud  the  Devil's  livery  to  wear, 

And  did  begin  to  count  and  calculate 

That  Union's  value  which  had  made  them  great. 

I  saw  red  Rashness  and  Ambition  urge 
Men  to  ill  deeds  for  office;  with  a  wing 

Like  the  free  eagle's,  lo !  they  swift  emerge 

From  the  dens  and  caves  of  earth,  and  upward  spring, 

With  daring  flight;  but  like  the  baffled  surge, 
That  doth  against  a  rock  its  masses  fling, 

They  are  repelled;  some  great,  calm,  kingly  eye 

Withers  their  plumes;  a  little  while  they  fly, 

And  then,  still  striving  with  their  shriveled  wings, 
Drop  on  the  earth,  and  in  each  cankered  soul 

Pale  Disappointment  crouches,  Envy  clings, 

Rage,  Hate,  Despair,  at  the  sweet  sunlight  scowl, 

Eevenge  and  fiery  Anger  dart  their  stings 
Into  themselves,  and  with  sharp  pain  howl; 

Then  forth  these  patriots  go,  a  motley  brood, 

And  preach  sedition  to  the  multitude. 
27 


418  A    PLIGHT    WITH    ARIEL. 

Then  Faction  and  the  Lust  for  office  shook 

Their  filthy  wings  over  the  whole  land,  lighting 

On  hill  and  plain,  by  river,  lake  and  brook 
The  fires  of  discord  and  new  hates  exciting; 

And  lean  Corruption  sneaked  in  every  nook, 
With  Avarice's  hoards  to  crime  inviting; 

Till  men  no  longer  saw  that  glittering  Star, 

The  Constitution,  shining  from  afar. 

Fanaticism  preached  a  new  crusade, 

And  Bigotry  scorned  slavery  as  a  crime; 

Intolerance,  brandishing  his  murderous  blade, 

Denounced  the  Southron  in  bad  prose  and  rhyme; 

The  Pulpit  preached  rebellion;  men,  dismayed, 
Saw  the  red  portents  of  a  bloody  time 

Burn  ominous  upon  the  northern  sky, 

And  sword-like  comets,  threatening,  blaze  on  high. 

Treason,  without  disguise,  all  clad  in  mail, 
Stalked  boldly  over  the  distracted  land; 

Cries  of  Disunion  swelled  on  every  gale; 

The  Ship  of  State  drew  near  the  rocky  strand, 

With  rent  sails,  through  the  lightning  and  the  hail, 
Her  mariners  a  reckless,  drunken  band; 

And  Freedom,  shuddering,  closed  her  eyes,  and  left 

Their  vessel  on  the  weltering  seas  to  drift. 

Then  Anarchy  turned  loose  his  maddened  steed, 
Whose  iron  hoofs  went  clanging  through  the  land, 

Filling  men's  hearts  with  fear  and  shapeless  dread; 
Then  leaped  on  board,  and  with  audacious  hand, 

Grasped  he  the  helm,  and  turned  the  vessel's  head 
Toward  unknown  seas,  and,  at  his  fierce  command, 

Through  the  red  foam  and  howling  waves,  the  dark, 

Ill-visaged  mariners  to  ruin  sailed  the  barque. 

I  shuddered  for  a  time,  and  looked  again, 
Watching  the  day  of  that  eventful  dawn; 


JAMIE  H.  BEGGS, 


A    FLIGHT    WITH    AEIEL.  419 

Wild  war  has  broken  his  adamantine  chain, 
Bestrid  the  steed  of  Anarchy,  and  drawn 

His  bloody  scimetar;  a  fiery  rain 

Of  blood  poured  on  the  land,  and  scorched  the  corn. 

"Wild  shouts,  mad  cries,  and  frequent  trumpets  rang, 

And  iron  hoofs  thundered  with  constant  clang. 

I  saw  and  heard  no  more,  for  I  did  faint, 
And  would  have  fallen  to  the  earth,  had  not 

Ariel  stooped  and  caught  me  as  I  went. 

He  raised  the  sail,  and  left  that  fearful  spot; 

And  while  into  the  soft,  cool  air  I  leant, 

Drinking  the  wind  that  followed  the  swift  boat, 

He  said  to  me,  with  gentle  voice  and  clear, 

Hinging  like  tones  seolian  in  my  ear: 

Thou  hast  not  seen  the  woes  that  are  to  come, 
The  long,  dark  days,  that  lengthen  into  year;j, 

The  reign  of  rapine,  when  the  laws  are  dumb, 

The  bloody  fields,  the  hearth-stones  wet  with  tears; 

The  starving  children,  wrangling  for  a  crumb, 
The  cries  of  ravished  maidens,  that  God  hears, 

And  does  not  heed,  the  blackened  walls  that  stand 

Amid  the  graves,  through  all  the  wasted  land. 

Go,  tell  your  misled  people  the  sad  fate, 

The  bitter  woes  and  sharp  calamities, 
That  in  the  swiftly-coming  future  wait; 

The  fruit  of  Faction's  sordid  villainies, 
Of  discord  and  dissension,  greed  and  hate, 

And  all  that  in  man  base  and  brutal  is; 
Unless  they  guard,  with  sleepless  vigilance, 
Their  liberties  against  such  dire  mischance." 

He  said  no  more;  meanwhile  we  kept  along 

The  elemental  greenness  of  the  ocean, 
Whose  great  breast  rose  and  trembled  with  the  strong 


420  A    FLIGHT    WITH    AEIEL. 

Stern  pulses  of  its  vibratory  motion; 
Across  still  bays,  'mid  many  a  tangled  throng- 

Of  misty  isles,  sleeping  like  sweet  devotion 
In  woman's  heart,  bordered  with  low  white  shores, 
Running  off  inland  with  green  level  floors. 

"We  saw  gray  water-plants  that  fanned  the  deep, 
"With  golden  hair,  far  down  beneath  the  boat; 

Caverns,  shell-paved,  where  the  Naiads  sleep; 
Clouds  of  thick  light  in  the  great  vast  that  float; 

Great  emerald-rifts,  wherein  the  ripples  keep 
A  constant  murmur  of  seolic  notes; 

Broad  beds  of  coral,  rosy  as  the  dawn, 

The  radiant  sea-flowers  thick  on  many  a  lawn. 

And  then  we  left  the  boat,  and  quick  descended, 
Through  the  clear  air,  as  we  had  first  arisen, 

Unto  my  home,  wherein  I  found  extended 

That  which  again  became  my  sad  soul's  prison. 

Then  with  a  brief  adieu  he  upward  wended, 

"While  far  behind  long  lines  of  light  did  glisten; 

Leaving  me  meditating  on  my  dream, 

"Which  still  like  deep  and  dark  reality  doth  seem. 


A    DIAMOND    IN    THE    BOUGH.  421 


A  DIAMOND  IN  THE  BOUGH. 

BY  FRANCIS  S.  SMITH. 

A  GAUNT,  ragged  urchin  was  parentless  Ben, 

"With  uncover'd  head  and  bare  feet; 
None  knew  his  real  age  but  it  seem'cl  about  ten, 

And  his  only  abode  was  the  street. 
As  a  vagabond  waif  he  was  everywhere  known — 

Mischievous,  quick-witted  and  bright — 
Contented  by  day  with  a  crust  and  a  bone, 

And  a  bed  in  a  coal-box  at  night. 

Ben  needed  refinement  and  polish,  of  course, 

And  he  was  not  extensively  read : 
I  fear  the  professors  would  hardly  indorse 

The  college  in  which  he  was  bred. 
Fine  ethics  were  not  of  his  studies  a  part, 

He  had  ne'er  heard  of  sacred  song, 
But  a  certain  instructor  down  deep  in  his  heart, 

Had  taught  him  the  right  from  the  wrong. 

So  bravely  he  battled  his  numberless  woes, 

AVith  the  meager  light  which  he  possessed, 
As  much  like  a  soldier  of  honor  as  those 

With  greater  encouragement  blessed. 
The  ill-luck  that  followed  him  many  a  time, 

Had  caused  him  sharp  hunger  to  feel; 
But  still  he  presented  a  bold  front  to  crime — 

He  might  suffer  but  never  would  steal. 

One  day  while  poor  Ben  was  at  play  in  the  street, 

A  rich  man  drove  carelessly  by, 
And  the  wheels  of  his  vehicle  crushed  the  waif's  feet, 

Ere  he  from  the  roadway  could  fly. 


422  A    DIAMOND    IN    THE    BOUGH. 

A  curse  the  proud  millionaire  hurled  at  the  lad. 

And  then  in  a  brutal  tone  said : 
"Why  should  such  poor  devils  exist?     I'd  be  glad 

If  all  the  low  creatures  were  dead ! " 

*         *         *         *          •&          *         *         *         * 
Ten  years  rolled  away,  and  the  waif  had  become 

A  sailor,  warm-hearted  and  brave; 
He  had  made  the  wild,  wide-spreading-  ocean  his  home, 

And  rejoiced  in  a  life  on  the  wave. 
He  was  stalwart  and  strong  as  a  hardy  young  oak, 

To  his  country  and  friends  he  was  true; 
He  would  melt  at  a  sad  tale  or  laugh  at  a  joke, 

And  was  loved  by  both  captain  and  crew. 

His  ship  was  the  "  Greyhound/' — a  clipper-built  craft; 

In  her  he  had  sailed  the  world  'round; 
She  was  fleet  as  the  wind,  and  was  trim  fore  and  aft, 

And  every  timber  was  sound. 
Ben  loved  the  staunch  bark,  and  with  face  all  aglow, 

As  she  flew  like  a  bird  o'er  the  sea, 
In  storm  or  in  sunshine,  "blow  high  or  blow  low," 

No  mortal  was  prouder  than  he. 

A  bright  little  fellow, — a  passenger's  child — 

Had  captured  the  hearts  of  the  men; 
His  ringlets  were  golden,  his  eyes  blue  and  mild, 

And  he  was  an  idol  with  Ben. 
He  would  play  'round  deck  when  the  weather  was  clear, 

And  shout  in  his  innocent  glee; 
And  sometimes  would  climb  to  the  rail  without  fear, 

To  gaze  on  the  turbulent  sea. 

Well,  it  happened  one  morning  when  Ben  was  aloft, 

And  the  child  on  the  deck  was  alone, 
He  attempted  the  feat  he  had  practiced  so  oft, 

And  into  the  wild  waves  was  thrown. 


A    DIAMOND    IN    THE    BOUGH.  423 

Ben  heard  the  boy's  scream  of  despair  from  his  perch, 

And  a  loud  cry  of  horror  he  gave, 
As  he  crawl'd  o'er  the  yard,  while  the  ship  gave  a  lurch, 

And  boldly  plunged  into  the  wave. 

Amid  the  crazed  throng  that  soon  crowded  the  deck, 

An  invalid  passenger  stood; 
He  had  flown  from  his  sick-bed  wvhile  scarcely  awake, 

And  terror  seemed  freezing  his  blood. 
His  tremulous  lips  with  life-crimson  were  dyed, 

And  frenzy  was  in  his  dark  eye; 
With  clasped  hands  upraised,  he  in  agony  cried, 
"  Oh!  God,  must  my  darling  boy  die  ?  " 

A  moment  of  dreadful  suspense,  but  at  last 

The  sailor  so  stalwart  and  brave, 
With  the  precious  boy  to  his  bold  bosom  held  fast, 

Appeared  on  the  crest  of  a  wave. 
:t  Hurrah!  He  is  saved! "  breaks  from  every  lip, 

And  then  with  a  hearty  accord, 

"  Three  cheers  for  the  hero! "  goes  up  from  the  ship 
As  the  rescued  are  hoisted  on  board. 

The  invalid  father  embraces  his  boy, 

And  hugs  him  again  and  again; 
And  then  in  the  midst  of  his  outgushing  joy, 

He  turns  from  the  child  to  thank  Ben. 
Ben  read  the  man's  countenance  o'er  and  o'er, 

Then  mutter'd,  "  How  strangely  we  meet! 
Excuse  me,  your  honor,  I've  seen  you  before, 

You're  the  man  that  ran  over  my  feet! 

"  I  was  very  poor  then,  a  rough  boy  of  the  town, 

With  no  shelter  to  cover  my  head; 
You  didn't,  of  course,  with  intent  run  me  down, 
But  you  wished  all  poor  devils  were  dead. 


A    DIAMOND    IN    THE    BOUGH. 

If  your  wish  had  been  granted,  your  honor,  that  day"- 

And  here  the  tar  quietly  .miled, — 
"  And  I  had  been  placed  under  hatches  to  stay, 
Where  now  would  have  been  your  sweet  child  ? 

"  I  cherish  no  malice,  your  honor,  oh,  no! 

So  give  me  a  shake  of  your  fin: 
I've  done  but  a  true  sailor's  duty  I  know, 

And  I'm  willing  to  do  it  again. 
But  the  truth  is,  your  honor,  now  make  no  mistake, 

That  while  on  life's  ocean  we  sail, 
The  meanest  and  poorest  landlubber  on  deck, 

May  be  of  some  use  in  a  gale." 


UNIVERSITY  COLLEGE,  LONDON. 

*  *  *  The  reports  and  circulars  which  I  have  re 
ceived  from  the  YOUTHS'  DIRECTORY,  indicate  what  zeal, 
energy,  and  perseverance  under  difficulties,  have  achieved 
in  the  cause  of  neglected  children  on  the  distant  shores 
of  the  Pacific  Ocean.  Permit  me  to  say  that  now,  more 
than  ever,  is  it  necessary  to  train  boys,  and  therefore 
those  under  your  charge,  to  live  in  God  and  for  God, 
and  thus  realize  "Laborare  est  Orare." 

Believe  me,  faithfully  yours, 

MONSIGNOR  THOMAS  J.  CAPEL. 


n.  b  LOAN 


•41*8  4 


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